


You'll Never Take Me Alive

by breakfastbeebo



Series: The Way Home From Nowhere [2]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Brendon POV, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV First Person, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Runaway Brendon, death mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 105,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8732674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastbeebo/pseuds/breakfastbeebo
Summary: Brendon was able to leave Summerlin, but the chase only seemed to gain momentum. The entire world seemed to have eyes scouring the Earth for him. But who were they really looking for- Brendon or someone that finally matched the vision they kept printing on flyers?Sequel to The Way Home From Nowhere





	1. Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> Here is Chapter 1 of Part 2! I decided to post it a few days earlier since you guys have been waiting so damn patiently. Thank you to those who have said such nice words to keep me going through the three month break and to everyone who has returned to see what happens to our favorite trio.  
> Enjoy! No specific warnings for this chapter.

**PART TWO**

I had been absent from the Urie household for one-hundred and forty days, but was by no means homeless. I had been fully accepted into the company of one Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross (the first). Brendon had at last found a new place to stay, with none of the shame or lies previously knotted around his neck.

I kept up only one lie, but that was to protect Spencer, not so much myself. Wouldn’t have been the first time I pretended to be something I wasn’t for the peace of mind of someone else. But it _was_ actually the first time, it didn’t truly cost me anything. I still got to express my sexuality, banishment -free; had no God I didn’t believe in to forcefully answer to; and continued to be surrounded by people who supported me- _this_ me. I just had to pretend I was a college kid from Arizona who gave a shit about the Mormon faith to do it. I’d done half of that act for eighteen years; I was flawless by then.

Ryan helped me smooth the cracks and wrinkles in my disguise if I ever stretched my lies too thin around Spencer or Dallon. He didn’t ask me to tell him anything else from my life in Summerlin, and let my secrets stay mysteries, but made sure no one else discovered what I was covering up with my monthly root bleaching and out-of-style glasses. I found a man who disliked the Boy on TV just as much as me. He still acted like he wanted to protect him from the harsh ‘other’ world that was dying to reject him, but he now knew a more appropriate direction for his efforts. Instead of impulsive fist fights, Ryan retired to walking my altered disguise everywhere in town, holding my hand and refusing to allow me to go anywhere alone. He was met with _no_ resistance.

If there was one thing I wasn’t going to lie about, it was Ryan. He made every part of me that Marc numbed with shame and fear glow with an unfamiliar warmth and spark that refused to be extinguished. And he knew it. He was willing to set the entire town ablaze if it meant I’d squeeze his hand back or smile at his arrival or laugh at a joke at Spencer’s expense. He seemed to enjoy having Brendon around instead of catching him in accidental glimpses. Ryan was the closest to the truth, but now the thought didn’t terrify me as much.

Which explained why I was crammed in the back of the Pinto in the boiling August heat on our way to Spencer’s childhood home. Spencer wasn’t skilled enough to drive a stick shift car- and get us there safely- so Ryan was driving, ensuring we all got there before Christmas. Spencer was in the passenger seat, excitedly blabbering about how much Ginger was going to love me, probably fuss over Ryan’s appearance, and smother all three of us with affection. Ryan kept turning the radio up in response. I leaned forward and poked my head through the space between the seats provided by the console, leaning closer to Ryan so he could hear me over the music.

“You seem excited to see Ginger- your _mother_.” I repeated his own words with playful mockery.

“I am. I just haven’t been home in a while. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, going back.” Ryan replied, twisting his grip against the steering wheel.

“I know what that feels like.” I hummed, raising my eyebrows and sighing. Ryan looked at me through the rear-view mirror and reached one hand back to touch the side of my face, playfully pulling it into the headrest, forcing me to hug the leather interior.

“This is a little different.” Ryan laughed, placing his hand back on the wheel. “They will actually recognize me. Well, actually maybe not. Ginger always complains I am still too skinny… Maybe this year I’ll be so thin I’ll just disappear.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.” I assured him. “She loves you.”

“I know. I know.” Ryan nodded, looking at me again through the mirror, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned. I patted his shoulder before centering myself between the driver and passenger seat. “I just don’t understand why Ginger is making such a big deal about _my_ birthday- Spencer’s is three days after.”

“We told you. This year is special for you. Mom will call me the day of my birthday and I’ll wake up to your _smiling face_ ,” Spencer reached over and pinched Ryan’s cheek. “I’ll be fine. This is about you."

“I don’t need it to be. I’m just old enough to drink. Not really an achievement I would like to-”

“Wow, we are making such _good_ time!” Spencer digressed, looking at his watch and leaving the topic. “Jackie and Crystal should still be there when we arrive!”

I shifted back over to Ryan as he turned the music down, eyes squinting at Spencer; the DJ began rambling about news stories none of us cared about. Ryan and I also didn’t know if the Boy had made it to radio as well.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Spencer’s younger sisters. They’re twins.” Ryan supplied.

“Oh. He has sisters?” I had no idea; I thought Spencer’s only sibling was Ryan. I didn’t know I would be meeting a whole family, not just a mom or dad. God, now I knew how Marc felt the first time we went to sneak into my house and found the entire family in the living room, pleasant and welcoming. Well, they were back then at least.

“They aren’t that bad.” Spencer argued the minute Ryan took a deep breath to begin a sentence.

“They do have a particular fascination with me though.” Ryan added, looking over his shoulder to me as we approached a stoplight. “They think I’m cute. Rightfully so.”

“What is it with you and Smiths?” I muttered, earning a smack on the arm from Spencer, who then hit Ryan before the light changed and he lost his chance.

“It’s this natural charm that I have.” Ryan teased, ignoring Spencer’s eye roll. “Although, I _might_ have some competition; they are going to _adore_ you.”

“Me?” It was a dumb question since the only other one in the car who could be adored by the twins was, in fact, me.

“Oh absolutely. Your hair, that smile- they are going to eat it up.” Ryan cooed dramatically. “Too bad you’re going to have to break their hearts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I laughed, nudging his shoulder as Spencer pretended not to be amused.

“They are going to be devastated to know they can’t have you.” Ryan turned to look at me again, his face sincere and eyes soft.

 _Oh_.

I sat back in my chair and let Spencer keep talking about his family, avoiding having my blush become the topic of conversation. I didn’t know what Spencer knew- or how much he would care to know.

Romantic or not, Spencer had loved Ryan for most of his life, and suddenly _I_ was there getting all of the playful winks and consistent attention. At least Spencer had Linda, maybe that would smooth things over. But she was unable to visit for the family get together, so maybe _not_. I would just be sitting around the Smith family home as the obvious visitor to the traditions and experience.

I remained silent as Ryan turned into a quiet neighborhood with varying styled houses scattered along the roadside. Every house was quaint, or at the very least well-kept, except one. It was a small one-story traditional ranch home with all brown paneling, misshapen hedges, untrimmed grass, and curtain drawn windows. The only sound that could be heard was the hum of the engine as we passed the house. Spencer stared at his watch, as if the time was going to drastically change the longer he looked, and Ryan’s eyes didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror. The car continued to be silence as we drove toward the curve of the street where the cul-de-sac looped around. On the curve, there was a light blue, square, two-story cottage with blooming flower beds and even hedges. Ryan pulled into the driveway next to the Cutlass Supreme from about ten years prior.

“And here we are.” Ryan said, putting the car in park. “Welcome home.” I wasn’t sure who he was supplying comfort to- Spencer or himself.

Ryan and I were still climbing out of the car when an average looking woman opened the front door slowly. I knew it was Ginger immediately; she had Spencer’s kind eyes and shining smile. She stood by the door, looking like she wanted to rush over to us, but only slowly stepped out onto the porch, taking us in.

“Hey, mom!” Spencer rushed up the three steps to the porch and met his mother with a strong embrace. “We came a little early- if that’s okay.”

“Of course! It is so good to see you, Spencer. You look great.” She held his face and kissed his cheek adoringly. “You’ve been taking care of yourself I see. How about you, Ryan?” She asked, dropping her hands and turning away from Spencer to walk down to Ryan.

“Told you.” Ryan muttered with a smirk, closing the car door. “Yes, Ginger. Been taking good care of myself. Eating my vegetables and everything.” He opened his arms as Ginger approached him, giving no resistance to the hug.

Ginger pulled away from their hug with a furrowed expression I recognized immediately as the one Spencer marched around with frequently. “Still too skinny!” She exclaimed to herself. “But that’s okay; your birthday dinner will fix that right up.” She reached over and fixed the collar of his shirt and finally relaxed her face into a genuine smile; a hint of relief adding a glint to her eyes. “The hair looks beautiful at that length, Ryan. The long hair is nice.”

Ryan seemed to swell with the compliment, a smile nearly splitting his face. “Thanks, Mom.” I stood silently by the exchange, awkwardly shifting my grip on our single overnight bag hanging on my shoulders. Eventually, Ginger’s eyes shifted to me, taking in every feature with her possessively affectionate eyes.

“And who is this?” She was asking me, but I immediately turned to Ryan, not sure who I should be.

“This is Bren.” Ryan introduced, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “He’s been living with us for a couple months.”

“Oh, _this_ is the new roommate!” She cried. “It is so nice to meet you finally!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Smith.” I replied, holding a hand out to her.

“Please, it’s Ginger.” She stepped forward and wrapped me up in a hug, squeezing my ribs. “Unless you really need to, then it’s Mom.” I hugged back as best I could, trying not to let the motherly embrace compare to any I had had in my previous life. Brendon still had a mom, I just didn’t stay with, see, or speak to her. Not right now. I backed away from her and returned her smile, following Spencer into the house. Behind me, Ginger walked alongside Ryan.

“So, where did we meet him?” She thought she was being quiet. And subtle.

“No- I will not let you do this.” Ryan sighed knowingly. “Don’t try to figure every bit of him out. I really like him, Ginger.” I almost tripped up the steps but was able to recover without looking too obvious.

“And I like him too; if you feel comfortable enough to bring him here, I already like him.” Ginger cooed, her tone softer. “I just want to know him. Considering I’m sure he’s going to be around for few other birthdays.” She laughed and I heard Ryan embarrassingly shush her as we all stepped into the house.

The first thing that hit me was the overwhelming scent of fresh cut flowers from the vase directly to my right, sitting atop an upright piano. The piano lid was covered in doilies, flowers, and pictures; and the cushion was worn and flat. Directly next to the piano was a small TV that hid in the corner, away from much of the family hustle and bustle. The living room was small, but fit two couches- and far more memories. There were stairs that ran horizontally against the couch facing us. Stairs that were talking- or more so, the girls _on_ them.

“Spencer? Is that you?”

“Wait, Spencer’s here!”

“Jackie! Crystal!” Spencer met the twins at the bottom of the stairs and lifted each in an arm as he hugged them. “God, I have missed you guys!”

“Us too!”

“We wish were staying here for the week; we want to celebrate too!” The twins had a habit of speaking one after the other; I couldn’t tell who was who- or who said what.

I turned to Ryan slightly, careful not to appear the clueless outsider. “Where are they going?”

“Mr. Smith gets them this week.” Ryan answered, whispering. He leaned in closer to my face. I pretended to be focusing only on his eyes. “The custody agreement is very rigid.”

“Oh. So it will just be the four of us?” No twin girls drooling over Ryan? Or asking questions about where I came from?

“Yup. Just us.” His smile caused heat to rush up my neck. _I really like him, Ginger_.

“Who is that?” Two voices asked the room, their tone twisting with interest.

Ryan’s arm returned, wrapping around my shoulders tightly. “This is Bren.” His tone was firm and daring, as if he was waiting for the supplementary commentary to follow. “He lives with me and Spence.”

“He does?”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Been there since April.” I nodded, looking up at Ryan for silent affirmation that I should even be opening my mouth.

“Why?” The twin in a red blouse asked, looking to the sister in a similarly styled black one with quirked eyebrows. “Why live with _Spencer_?”

“Well, I… I live with Ryan too.” I added, thumbing his chest lightly. Jackie and Crystal looked at each other before looking back with slumped shoulders. Ryan tried to suppress a giggle with his hand and a well-placed cough.

“Well, you made _that_ horribly obvious.” Ryan said quietly to me as Ginger and Spencer helped the twins bring their luggage downstairs.

“Made what obvious? What did I do?”

“Made it clear you also live with _me_.” Ryan laughed, letting himself flop onto a couch. “The gay person that lives with Spencer.”

“Well, I didn’t mean…” I started, my mouth closing as I considered the implications. What _did_ that mean? Were they upset I had accidentally outed myself, and they thought I was gay and no longer available to them. Or were they upset that I was apparently no longer single- something I was unsure of myself…

“Well, they still figured it out.” Ryan chuckled. They seemed to get it before me. I was lucky enough for Spencer and Ginger to come down the stairs and diffuse the responsibility of me having to respond to Ryan.

“When is the one Mr. Smith supposed to get here?” Ryan asked once Spencer peeked through the window curtains.

“Any moment. He wanted the girls there by dinnertime.” Ginger replied. “You know how particular he can be.”

“How did you get out of that family gathering, Spence? It _is_ going to be your twentieth birthday.” Ryan continued. Spencer only turned to glare at him. I thought Spencer was telling Ryan with one of their silent conversations to not press the subject further, but he apparently had actually answered Ryan’s question. “Really?” Ryan asked. I tried to follow. “Me?” Ryan let his head hang back as he continued to ponder the apparently amusing idea. “He dislikes me that much? Good to know our relationship is steady.”

“You really have the worst luck with fathers, don’t you?” I said off-handedly, moving to sit next to Ryan. As I spoke, Spencer’s eyes widened and set on me with a look of shock and anger. We both looked over at Ryan quickly, me catching up to Spencer’s thought process- and my mouth- quickly enough.

“Hmm, yeah. I guess you’re right.” Ryan mused, nodding with a smile on his face. “But you’re not much better, Bren.” He nudged my leg with his own and winked at me coyly.

“You’ve got me there.” I agreed, trying to laugh the blush off my face. Spencer stood by the door, doing his best to hide his staring and furrowed expression. He looked confused, like he had seen more than two friends exchanging the nostalgia of a common painful memory. Like he noticed the way Ryan’s hand rested on my leg as he looked at me with unrestrained joy.

“Oh, Spencer. He’s here.” Ginger said, getting his attention away from us and waving him out the door.

Ryan made no motion to interact with the man pulling up to the Smith home. He put his feet up on the small coffee table and put his arm on the back of the couch, only an inch from being around my shoulders.

“Ryan,” I turned to speak to him, but my voice suddenly sounded like two energetic girls walking into the room. I closed my mouth to avoid being caught with any curiosity. “We are going to go. It was nice to see you again.”

“Visit again _before_ you turn thirty.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Ryan muttered, acting like the thought of seeing them again was far too laborious to truly consider. “See you soon, girls.” They swatted his legs off the table in order to bend over and hug him, Ryan’s arm lifting from my shoulders. “Be good.”

“We could say the same to you.” The twin in the black muttered to her sister.

“Right, Jackie? He looks younger than Spencer.” Crystal replied, throwing a twisted smile at Ryan.

“Alright. Alright. Both of you, go see your Dad. Go go go.” Ryan waved them out and tried not to look amused by their quiet laughter. Ryan may have mastered how to push Spencer’s buttons, but Jackie and Crystal definitely had the one up on Ryan. Real siblings if I ever saw it.

Ryan and I sat silently together, waiting for Spencer and Ginger to return. Ryan had his feet back on the table and both arms sprawled out on the couch. He looked comfortable and completely at ease- at home. He looked around and had a faint but growing smile, the joyful childhood memories showing across his face- but none that I could read well enough. He was looking at the living room’s floral decorations, his expression just as lively and bright, and I couldn’t help but be looking at him. It was a new kind of happiness glowing in his eyes. He was beautiful.

“Why are you looking at me?” Ryan asked quietly, his eyes sliding over to me, smirking as he caught me in the act.

“I- nothing. No reason.” I sputtered, looking the other way and trying to find a piece of décor to pass off as my true line of focus. Nothing else could catch my eye.

“You know, you’ve gotten worse at lying.” Ryan laughed, shaking his head at me. “You had me fooled there for a while, but now I have got you figured out, Brendon Urie.”

I chuckled until I realized, he really didn’t. Ryan knew very little about me, this real me that I was sharing with him. This real me he _really liked_. Ryan didn’t know about Marc, my father, my family, my mistake. He knew there was more to me, but I only kept teasing him with the allusion of completion. He never asked, never pried, never assumed it was his business. He knew parts of me, and I was the only reason he didn’t know the full story **.** One hundred and forty days and I still had secrets. I was no better than before. I promised him Brendon, promised myself Brendon, but continued to walk days in Brent’s shoes.

* * *

Spencer definitely learned everything he knew about cooking and the finer culinary arts from his mother. She maneuvered around the kitchen with the same focus and determination as Spencer- except maybe with a dash more experience and skill. Spencer, Ryan, and I were all sitting at a small white round table at the end of the kitchen, watching Ginger with awe.

“So where’s Linda, Spencer? I was so ready to meet her.” Ginger asked, checking a pot on the stove.

“She couldn’t make it; her and her family have been in France for the past week. She comes home tomorrow morning… or afternoon, I don’t know with the time difference.” Spencer explained, sipping the lemonade in front of him. “They wanted to explore Europe for a little.”

“Oh, she sounds so _nice_.” Ginger cooed.

“Oh, she sounds so well- _travelled_.” Ryan said quietly to me, twisting his face and mocking Ginger.

“Shove it, Ryan.” Spencer pushed Ryan’s side and sent him bumping into me. “Sorry my girlfriend is interested in life outside of Spring Valley.” Spencer looked at me and I was glad the steam from my cup of tea fogged my glasses and allowed me to pretend I hadn’t seen the look. Pretend I was clueless. I was lying to Spencer already, but maybe it was time I started lying to myself.

No one saw anything. No one thought anything. Ryan and I were just friends; there was nothing. Each glance was between us. Nothing was happening between me and Ryan. The same way nothing was happening with Marc. Nothing. Looks were just looks and jokes were just jokes. Harmless, right?

“So, Bren,” Ginger focused in on me. I was hoping ‘girlfriend’ hadn’t been her segue. “Where are you from?”

“Arizona.” I answered. “Prescott.” Ryan heard the name once on a TV documentary. It was my new home town, and I knew _nothing_ about it. The only person who had even stepped foot there was Dallon, who knowingly was giving me truths to my stories with his location specific stories. Lying was a collaborative effort, even if Dallon didn’t know he was helping me.

“And you’re here for school, right?” She was checking the lies Spencer had told her- it made my job easier. I just had to nod and say yes.

“Yes, but I am taking this coming fall off from school.” Only because there was no skillful way to pretend I had a schedule, class, and homework when I barely had an ID to verify my existence.

“Waiting to start his senior year.” Spencer continued, sounding proud.

“Senior year? I would have never thought… You don’t look older than a _high school_ senior, I have to say.” Ginger laughed, sounding ashamed of her unknowingly _correct_ assumption.

“He does have his youth about him.” Ryan agreed, smirking at me. He enjoyed reminding me that I was barely an adult. The lies weren’t the reality; I’d eventually have to own up to that.

I playfully glared over my mug at Ryan who pretended not to be looking, but instead being particularly interested in Ginger’s conversation. Mistake on his part.

“I’ll still never _truly_ understand why you boys never went to college.” She said without judgment, but only with confusion; she trusted their reasons, but just didn’t know them as clearly as she would have liked. Ryan turned back to me and sighed, knowing the conversation to come.

“We don’t have the money for college right now, Ginger. And besides, what would I even go for? I have nothing worth pursuing for academic excellence.” Ryan shrugged. I thought he would drop even the tiniest hint of sarcasm into his sentence, but he was completely serious.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” I countered, shaking my head and placing one hand on the table, an inch from Ryan’s.

“Let me just major in strategic lying and minor in deception.” Ryan muttered, taking a long sip from his cup. The major was harder to get than he was giving himself credit for- even if I was floundering myself.

“Nonsense, Ryan. You’re a beautiful writer.” Ginger exclaimed and Ryan rolled his eyes as Spencer joined in with encouragement. “You could always continue your education in English.” It must not have been the first time Ryan had heard this conversation, his expression souring as they continued.

“You write?” I asked. I had never seen Ryan with a notebook or pen in any day I had spent with him.

“Yeah- used to. Did it a lot in high school.” Ryan waved the topic away with his hand, trying to blow it off.

“He used to write such beautiful poems. I have an entire box saved up in the attic.”

“Which you are _not_ going to show Bren.” Ryan said firmly, giving Ginger an unchangeable and unrecognizable expression.

Ryan still wanted to keep secrets from me, which I could understand; I _was_ doing the same to him. Our outside facades were close and connected, but the cores underneath were yet to be revealed to the other. We both had ghosts following us and we knew keeping our walls up would hide our cores from any further damage and haunting. But it also kept us from healing. We were making our own scars permanent when they could easily fade away.

God, we were helpless.

Under the table, I continued to bump my knee against Ryan’s, trying to get him to grin in the face of the conversation echoing through time and his mind. He kept his eyes on his cup, nodding along to Ginger’s new conversation about Jackie and Crystal’s time in high school, but breaking into a smile just before he took a sip. It was hidden from everyone but me.

It carried me all the way to dinner. My head in the clouds until Spencer swatted them away and urged me to migrate to the larger dining table in the room neighboring the kitchen. Ginger and Spencer took one side of the table and seemed somehow surprisingly pleased when Ryan and I sat next to each other. I pulled my chair in and before my hands could even rest on the table, Ginger had one in her hand, grabbing Spencer’s as well. We were going to say grace.

I pulled my hand out of Ginger’s quickly, feeling suddenly jittery and out of sorts. Saying grace wouldn’t take me back to being Brent, the committed Mormon, again, but it was a habit of Brendon’s I wanted to stay dead. I didn’t believe in any God. I wasn’t under His watchful eye. I was a free, wandering human. I would thank no God for my accomplishments.

“Is there something wrong?” Ginger asked, her hand still extended out to me. Ryan grabbed my other hand, but for a far different reason.

“Uh, no. No, I just- uh. No.” I shook my head and slowly placed my hand back into Ginger’s. “No, not a problem. Just, didn’t know you guys were really, uh, into… this kind of thing.”

“Not really.” Spencer replied, looking at his mother for agreement. “Just dinner.”

“Oh… Okay.” It apparently was a Smith _family_ tradition; it hadn’t made its way to the apartment.

“Would you like to start, Bren? I mean, is there a particular way that you like to-”

“ _No._ No that’s okay. Mormons say grace like everyone else. Exactly the same.” I shook my head far longer than I needed to. Ryan squeezed my hand and tried to stop my hand from shaking.

“Okay, I’ll say it then.” Ginger smiled, not seeing anything off about my suddenly jittery speech and profuse sweating. I closed my eyes to focus on the fingers pressing against my hand, pulsing a different, more calm beat. “Dear God, thank you for this wonderful meal we are about to receive. And thank you for letting Spencer, Ryan, and Bren arrive safely home. And thank you for tomorrow, in all its many celebrations.”

“Amen.” Spencer said it first, followed by Ginger, and then Ryan and I quickly and quietly. All our hands untangled, but Ryan released mine last.

I made sure to keep my expression blank as Ginger looked over at me, passing around bowls and serving spoons until we all had full plates and mouths. She waited until everyone had started to eat before smiling softly and starting herself.

“So Bren,” She began, spinning her fork in her pasta. “Ryan won’t tell me, so maybe you will; how did you two meet?” Not the three of us. The _two_ of us.

Ryan nearly choked in response. There was no skillful way to lie to Ginger; Spencer knew at least one truth. And worse, Ginger thought that it ended with love at first sight.

“A gay club.” I responded stiffly. Ryan shot water out of his nose.

“Bren, what are you _doing_?”

“Oh, really? Didn’t know Ryan was over twenty-one. Thought that birthday was _tomorrow_.” Ginger replied evenly, making me question if I had made a mistake or not. “Go on.”

“I, uh, had come with some other guys, but they were, uh, weren’t letting me have a good time.” I explained, rubbing the back of my neck. Beside me, Ryan was looking at me with sudden intense curiosity; he didn’t know how this story ended with me being swopped up and carried to apartment 3C. I realized the Ryan had no idea that I had put myself under the dangerous care of three strangers while I ran- while Brent ran. He knew nothing. He in no way knew how the story really went. But he would. I’d have to tell him. Just, not with Ginger smiling at me from across the dining table. “And I, uh, so I tried to get away and uh, Spencer was there.”

“You were?” Ginger turned to her son with an amused, but shocked expression. Spencer in a gay bar was the only line that sounded like a lie, but it was the first truthful sentence.

“Yes. With Ryan.” Spencer nodded, pointing at Ryan, who quickly nodded in return. Either Spencer had forgotten that evening, or he was helping me lie.

“Spencer helped get me away from them and then we struck up a little conversation-”

“And he had some housing problems because of college and blah, blah, blah… Ryan and I convince him to live with us.” Spencer’s version of the story omitted almost every truth I was hoping to disguise. Either he was clueless or more of a liar than I ever sized him up to be.

“Well, isn’t that lucky.” Ginger said with a coy expression, looking at Ryan, but never getting to tease him; he was still looking at me.

His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked confused, but also horribly terrified. He was trying to connect the dots from what little I had told him, but there were too many missing connections; the lightbulb could never illuminate. He’d be left in the dark. He was stumbling around and I couldn’t watch it any longer. I was used to people being clueless to the real person I was, but now I had someone curious. And worse, _concerned_. I placed a hand on Ryan’s leg under the table, trying to relax while also acknowledging his wrinkled expression.

“Yup. Pretty damn lucky.” Ryan breathed, tension melting off his face under my watch. Ryan placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed my fingers. “Finally.” He muttered, leaning closer to me. “God did _something_ for me.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking he leaned in to tell another joke at God’s expense, since now I found them sinlessly funny. But Ryan continued leaning in until his lips were pressed lightly against my check. Before he could feel the heat rising up my neck, his lips pulled away- as did the rest of him- and he continued eating.

Even with missing answers and far too many questions, Ryan was still interested in the core of the boy promised to him- he was still interested in me. In Brendon. _All_ of Brendon.

“Lucky I found you.”

No, Ryan. I was the lucky one.

Dumb, foolish, smitten, lucky, and yours. Not that I knew how to ever tell him that.

Dinner passed with Ginger asking more about Linda: when she would meet her, what she was like, had she already met Ryan and I. I was just as curious to the answers to those questions as Ginger was; Spencer didn’t typically bring Linda over to the apartment. I suspected it _would_ look a little odd, but nothing Spencer expressed shame over. Ryan kept quiet and let Spencer talk, catching up by just looking between the two of them, nodding occasionally and smiling at Spencer as he gushed about Linda. He was having a conversation with them without ever opening his mouth. Ryan wasn’t really the talking and sharing type it seemed.

As dinner finished and Ginger gathered the plates to carry back into the kitchen, I had questions of my own for Ryan.

“You boys can go sit in the living room if you want, I can handle this.” Ginger called to us. Spencer argued and stood immediately, following his mother.

“Spencer and Ginger really are cut from the same cloth, huh?” Ryan laughed, raising his eyebrows at Spencer’s hasty exit.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, ignoring Ryan’s small talk.

“Do what?” Ryan asked, looking over at me with curiosity. “Use an idiom? Well, you see, they are these sets of understood statements-”

“No.” I couldn’t help but crack a smile at the smirk growing on Ryan’s face. “I mean, why did you… why did you… uh,”

“Go on.” Ryan said coyly, waving his hand to encourage me to keep talking. “Do what?”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Ryan laughed, amusement lighting up his face. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to.”

“Oh.”

Ryan’s face fell and his hands reached out to grab mine. “Unless that wasn’t- I’m sorry. Should I have not-” I waved away the words attempting to take back the butterflies swarming up into my ears, their fluttering wings combining with my pounding heartbeat. “Oh. Okay. I probably shouldn’t have since now Ginger will never leave you alone… but I wanted to.”

“It’s okay.” What a rudimentary compliment, Brendon. Real fucking sincere.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Oh my _god_ , Brendon. Just _shut up_ already.

Ryan and I settled into the silence of our own as we both nodded at our own replies. There weren’t any words to have between the two of us. Ryan was prideful of his actions and I was still humming from the progression of quiet winks to lips touching my cheek.

“Lucky, huh?” I said, looking at Ryan with a smirk.

“First time in my damn life.” Ryan chuckled, nodding slowly again. “Not sure what I did to deserve it.”

Deserve it. Deserve _me_. I nervously pushed my chair back, using the motion to fil the silence. I rested my hands on my lap and twisting my thumb mindlessly. With the look Ryan was aiming at me- soft, unwavering, and committed- I was afraid I would break my thumb off. Luckily, for the sake of still owning all ten digits, there was suddenly a piano playing in the next room over.

“Oh, Spencer.” Ryan winced with an amused smile, pushing his own chair back and standing. “It hasn’t even been a day.”

I stood and followed Ryan, thankful for the distraction, but also wincing at Spencer’s lacking skill in the fine delicate movements of piano playing. The notes were correct and the rhythm was recognizable, but each forceful clang on the keys lacked charm. As I walked into the living room again, the forced melody struck my bones harshly. I sat down on the couch and Ryan sat beside me slowly, giving me a pained glance.

“They aren’t _drums_ , Spencer.” Ryan muttered to me, placing an arm around my shoulders and not the couch. He meant to be close, and knowing that my attempt to abstain from the truth was fading fast, I let him. Who knew if he’d stay this close after he learned what I had done in running to and from the edge? When he learned it really wasn’t _luck_ so much as a series of horrible fucking mistakes I was too scared to consider before committing to? What if I was just another convenience to Ryan; he’d want to cherish his good luck in this moment, but then in the next cast me aside for the bad luck I had in my past.

I ran once, I could do it again. And even the most skilled runner couldn’t find me. Can’t find someone when they’re dead, now can you-

“Spencer,” Ryan began leaning forward in his seat. “Would you like some help?” He wasn’t really asking.

“You don’t know how to play either, Ryan.” Spencer argued as Ryan stood and walked to the piano, pushing him over on the bench. Together, the beginner piano tune began to sound at least recognizable and familiar. It invoked very little hope for future improvement though.

“Would you _both_ like some help?” I laughed, following Ryan’s example and just walking up to the piano and shushing Spencer off the bench. It had been a couple months since I had played, but I was at least confident to know I would be better than Spencer and Ryan. Spencer was standing behind us with crossed arms and a tight expression while Ryan laughed at my interruption, as if I had done it strictly for the amusement of myself and Ryan, while simultaneously irritating Spencer. None of them expected me to play the recognizable melody of _Moonlight Sonata_. It was simple, but I was rusty after a few months without any practice and had to keep with what I had memorized.

“You can play the piano?” Ryan asked dumbly, staring at my hands, like they could not have been mine.

“Yeah. I can.” I grinned, hitting a chord to show my most basic knowledge.

“Wow.” Ryan breathed. “Just something else I don’t know about you.” He sounded hurt and thought I wouldn’t notice. He didn’t even think I’d hear.

“My mom taught me.” I blurted, trying to get Ryan’s lowering stare to come back and meet my eyes. He was already growing distant. He made contact, and now my poisonous hidden self was sticking to him.

“She’s a great teacher.” Spencer noted, humming in approval. He wandering to the kitchen, answering a call his mother didn’t even have to make.

“She plays the organ at our church. I grew up leaning how to play the piano.” I was speaking in present tense; it was still a part of me. “That’s true.” He didn’t question me, but I knew it was the only response swirling in his mind.

He kept his eyes on the keys. “Okay.”

“Her name is-”

“You don’t have to tell me everything, Brendon. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry-”

“No. No I want to.” I confessed, truth already pouring out of me. It was the kiss. He gave me an inch and I was ready to surrender the whole damn mile. Every single one that I walked on my way to him. “I want to.”

“I don’t want you to just start telling me things because you think you ought to tell them.” Ryan said, turning to peer at me with furrowed eyebrows and lips pressed together. He hadn’t been clueless to my careful disclosure of information. “Are you sure?”

“I should really be asking you that.” If I started, I wouldn’t stop. I would keep talking and confessing until I was nothing but a core- a shelled apple core that Ryan could dispose of if he wanted. “Do _you_ even want to hear it?” Would he still care about me if I wasn’t hiding behind a projected, preferred image of myself? Would he even want me there, in his childhood home, standing in the middle of his life and memories?

“Come with me.” Ryan grabbed my hand, gripping it tightly, enough to tug me along, but being sure to soften his grip as I followed along. He led me upstairs. As he reached the upstairs landing, his fingers laced with mine.

All the lights were off in the hallway but I could see the dark, eggplant paint coloring the walls and various scheme matching paintings filling the empty wall space between the doors lining the hallway. He pulled me to the first door on the left. It was covered in small holes from pushpins, the paint matching the door with the hallway peeling around the doorknob. Ryan opened it for me and let me step inside first.

The room was illuminated by only incoming moonlight as I searched for the light switch Ryan flipped on without needing to look. The bedroom was small, livable, but definitely not originally meant to be one. The bed was covered in a tattered blue comforter, tearing in two spots in the middle on either side. The pillow was in the same worn condition, looking like it had seen many good nights of sleep- but also its fair share of sleepless nights. The walls were gray, blank looking without the frames and posters the tacks showed should have been there. There was a desk in the far corner by the window, covered with stacked books and stuffed notebooks. And a small handmade tapestry leaning against the wall. It was of a small capital ‘R’.

“Is this your room?” I don’t know how it didn’t dawn on me sooner. Ryan was looking around the room, not because he had to, but because he was comparing his old fading memory with the room now surrounding him.

“This is my room.” Ryan nodded, shuffling over and sitting on the bed- his bed. The room reminded me of a ghost- a once was, but now only the bare bones used to tack together possible memories. I passed through it, feeling the life it used to hold, but understanding none of it. It was horrible, but it was familiar. “When I was fifteen… and,” Ryan’s words died on his lips and he motioned between the two of us continuously until they were revived. “When I was fifteen, this is where my secrets came to hide- where _I_ came to hide. So whatever you feel like you want to tell me,” Ryan gestured again. “It’s safe here.”

It was then that I could see all the secrets woven into the fabric of the comforter and previously tucked under picture frames, and scattered away in notebooks. It felt like a ghost because it was empty, but not all of it was dead.

I sat down next to Ryan slowly, settling under his focused and attentive stare. I wasn’t sure where to start, I had built everything around hiding those terrible truths that made me vanish, and now I had to pick the brick to let it all come crumbling down.

“My middle name is Boyd.” It was the easiest transition; after all the namesake was why I was there, sitting next to Ryan in the first place.

“That’s unfortunate.” He stated, a smile cracking his stern expression.

“Well, it’s my dad’s name.”

“Even worse.” Ryan sighed, nodding slowly. “I know what that’s like.”

“No one calls me that though.” I countered, quickly. “I’ve always been Brendon.” I didn’t want to suddenly be comparing myself to Ryan’s situation in a place he considered the safest; even with Ginger and Spencer he considered being alone the safest way to live. I didn’t want him to think that letting me in would mean that his memories were going to be pushed aside. I couldn’t remove those ghosts.

“Never had a ‘Georgie’ phase?” Ryan asked. I furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head. “People called me ‘Georgie’ until I was about eight; I just stopped answering them.” He shared the fact smoothly; I barely noticed he had shared anything at all.

“No. No one ever called me Boyd. I’ve been Brendon since day one.” I hadn’t really changed. I never left Brendon behind. Since that first step I took out of my house on my way to nowhere in particular, I’ve always been Brendon, or at least carried him with me.

“Where does Brent come from?” Ryan asked. He immediately pressed his lips together and regretted his own forward questioning.

“My bookshelf. I just came up with it.” I answered, folding one leg up on the bed, playing with the fraying cuff of my jeans. “Brent’s nobody.”

“I have to admit I like Brendon a lot more.” Ryan muttered, giving me a sheepish smile. “I’m sure everyone else would too.”

“I doubt that.” I huffed, yanking on a loose string and unraveling it more. “You tell Spencer or Dallon the truth, they’ll be furious; I heard what Spencer said about Brendon having a supportive family looking for him… I’m _that_ kid.” It was something Ryan had already figured out I assumed, but it was still helpful to say. It was helpful to explain myself. Why I was still lying to Ryan’s best friend.

“Spencer says that because _I_ was that kid. Except when I was missing from their house, I was out with my actual father being the me the world had intended. He doesn’t get it because he was my safe place; I _returned_ to him, I never ran from him. He’s never been the one to lose something. Or need to be the one that’s lost.” Ryan said, shaking his head. “Don’t let Spencer stop you; he’s been my friend this long. He’s in it for the long haul. There’s nothing Spencer could learn to make him dislike you.”

There it was; the admission that Ryan’s secrets weighed just as heavy on his shoulders as any on mine. He was ready to see the truth wash across my face and come rushing down my cheeks- he wouldn’t turn away. Nothing was going to scare him away from Brendon. I wasn’t a convenience. I was a commitment.

I slipped my fingers into the hole in the comforter between us, tugging at the fabric mindlessly. “I left after school. On a Wednesday. My parents had caught me with Marc… I think they were mostly scared.” I remembered my father’s wide and startled eyes challenging me to consider who the real enemy was. I fought the urge to admit it was me; I was the stranger of the house, causing turmoil with my horrible mistakes. But I wasn’t a stranger anymore. I had a name. I had a home. I had someone holding my hand and hanging on every word, using my name with a fiery determination to never let me slip away. I was someone. “My dad was yelling at me- I think I was yelling too. No wait, I definitely was. I said something I shouldn’t have-”

“You had every right to say it.” Ryan interrupted, trying to unravel the guilt from the narrative. “But, go on.”

“I was refusing to be like them- they said they didn’t recognize me… Insinuated I had become a complete stranger over something as simple as just _living_. My own existence was somehow _faulty_ to them. They didn’t want to see it, to respect it- and I was running my mouth. And my dad shut me up.” My mouth clamped shut and I could feel my throat closing up again. My dad had put a gag order on me. I had never spoken it. The words were like corkscrews, twisting up my throat, fighting to get to my tongue. Ryan watched with patient eyes as they became lodged in my throat, jammed and forcefully sticking their ground. My open mouth and only released short puffs of air, the sounds of the memory surfacing in my mind and on my face.

“Brendon?” Ryan asked, touching my arm and trying to shake my dead stare into resurrection. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else.”

Maybe it wasn’t _me_ keeping my secrets hidden; it was my father. His judgment, his guilt, his refusal to let me exist as the banished homosexual of the family. I had been fighting him the whole time. His hands were still around my throat. My free hand reached up and tried to grab it, ending up only tugging at my collar. Ryan’s hand grabbed mine lightly, his eyes widening as he remembered the alignment of my bruises upon our first meeting. He tugged on my thumb and peeled my hand away from my neck. My hands fell away slowly, and so did my father’s.

I began gasping, the fresh air finally available to me. My chest heaved and my body quaked as I realized that most of the weight on my shoulder had actually been hanging around my neck. I was finally alone. I wasn’t being followed any more by resistance, waiting for the right moment to strike fear back into me. Brendon Urie was real and alone and no longer lost. I settled on a new destination and didn’t have to live between two lives and two people- I made a choice, and I could change it at any time.

I didn’t notice I had tears streaming down my cheeks until Ryan used his sleeve to try and wipe them away. I leaned away and did it myself, not letting myself be upset about a man who had tried to keep me in place, and was on a hunt to do it again. Now, I had to tell Ryan. The more people that knew the truth, the less hands they had on me to pull me back in. Ryan could pull me free.

“It was the first time he had ever done that.” I confessed, sniffling and wiping my nose. “I don’t know if it was _right_ for me to overreact like that-”

“Brendon.” Ryan’s voice was short and harsh. I would have been scared if it wasn’t for his wet eyes, staring back at me. “That’s not an overreaction; that could have _killed_ you. Be proud you left. You didn’t feed into any cycle or statistic. You left and now you’re safe.” Ryan sounded more like he was defending rather than assuring me; Ryan never stopped protecting me, even if the opposing force _was_ _me_. “You are safe.”

“I wasn’t always though.” I muttered, remembering how desperate I was to get away and be in the company of someone who would only know what I told them. I was stupid. The promise of erasure was so addicting. I nearly feel into its trap, living a meaningless life of patchwork lies to get from one meal- or bed- to another.

“Is this the bar?” Ryan’s eyes darkened, eager to hear the truth, since both Spencer and I had kept it from him.

“Yeah, these three guys picked me up.”

“You hitchhiked?”

“What was I supposed to do?” I argued. “I decided when I _got home_ that I would cut, bleach, and change my hair and leave my life and family behind. I didn’t plan anything; I didn’t have Spencer.”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryan replied evenly, not hurt by my sharp tone. “I was just asking.”

“Oh.” I blinked to try and lessen the hot, burning tears in my eyes. “I’m- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes you feel like you have to justify every step. Believe me, I get it; I stole furniture from my father as a final act of defiance.” He laughed hollowly and rolled his eyes. “Sometimes you’re going to feel the need to justify and validate everything you’ve done. But you don’t have to.” He squeezed my hand again. “So, go on.”

“They were living in this weird motel.” I continued. “I only stayed a few days.”

“What happened.” Ryan asked slowly, his voice going quiet. The ghosts in the room huddled around to try and comfort the ones being resurrected from me.

“Nothing.” I reassured them. “I mean, he tried some stuff but, he didn’t do anything. They just wanted to take me to a bar.”

“The one Spencer found you in?” Ryan was keeping his facts straight without guiding the narrative.

“Yeah… With Gabe?” I tried to remember the name Spencer gave to him the morning I woke up in the apartment.

“Right. Right. That place.” Ryan nodded, familiar with the man and the establishment. “Kind of sleazy.”

“Yeah… I know.” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “The drinks they gave me, uh, really knocked me out.” I tried to swallow and loosen the tightening in my throat. “After only three shots.”

“That doesn’t make-” Ryan stopped doing the math and instead watched my hands nervously pull on the hair at the back of my neck and eyes lower to my frayed pant cuff again. “Oh _god_.”

“But that’s when Spencer stepped in.” I assumed it was the truth. It was how _I_ remembered it.

“Spencer never told me that.” Ryan was breathless as he stared at me. “He never told me he stopped you from being _drugged_.”

“It isn’t something I am proud of.” I continued, looking at Ryan. “Learned my lesson about being reckless very quickly.”

“I’m very glad I hadn’t learned my lesson and I ran out then.” Ryan sighed, remembering where he fit into the equation. He was out of the apartment and sent Spencer after him; sent Spencer to me.

“I guess I should be too.” I smiled with only the corners of my mouth, letting Ryan’s hands hold mine again. “Without you, I don’t know where I’d be.” I said, looking at our hands, tangled and intertwined like they could never come apart.

“Still with Brent.” Ryan surmised, sounding pleased that it wasn’t the current reality.

“Thank God he’s dead. He is committed to no one’s memory.” I spoke softly but defiantly, shaking my head and denying the thought of Brent, his motives, his actions, his goal of killing Brendon. I wanted him gone, not even his ghost hovering around me, ready for that crack of guilt to claim me again. “You don’t know Brent and I don’t want you to.”

“Brendon Urie,” Ryan said quietly, “you are the most fascinating man I have ever met… Guess I don’t have you figured out after all.” He shrugged and loosened his grip on my hands to tap his fingers along the top of them, gently drawing patterns he seemed to already have in his hands. 

“You’ll have plenty of time.” My voice was quiet and completely unaltered. “Don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Ryan’s hands lifted from my own, and I feared I had treaded carelessly on the moment, until he reached out for my face. His thumb rested against my cheek as his fingers tangled in my hair. The tips of his fingers were cold but his touch was soft and warming; it wasn’t fiery or dangerous or filled with hasty secrecy or resentment. I was so lost in the comfort of a loving and careful touch that when Ryan’s eye began lowering from mine, fluttering when they landed on my lips, I didn’t even notice. I even started to lean into him too.

Ryan kissed me and it made every part of me, core and all, freeze up. The next few seconds moved in slow motion, each beat of my heart sounding like thunder in my ears and the breath Ryan took was the complementary lightning, shocking us both. We answered each other, my pounding heart deafening me before I could feel Ryan’s chest rise in response, moving us together.

My hands were in Ryan’s hair, but I was only trying to be close to him; I wanted to answer the pulsing grip of his fingertips and hesitant smile accidentally twisting the connection at our lips. We held each other and accepted each other at our cores, accepted each other for everything we were trying to let fade away. When we broke away, and time sped back up, I swore I could still feel his chest rising and falling in rhythm with my heartbeat, and the pressure of his fingertips on the back of my neck. He still had a grip on me- he could always pull me free.

“Please don’t go anywhere.” Ryan asked. “Please don’t run.”

In all the places and roofs I had been under, no one had begged me not to run; they’d only given me the reasons and fear to take that first step: Stranger, mistake, convenience.

But now, I was just Brendon. Someone was fascinated by me. I caused wonder. Before, I felt like the affection (if I could even call it that) Marc gave me was out of pity; I was lucky to get the attention of someone of the likes of Marc. But now, I had someone who admitted their fascination with me, with _all_ of me. Not just my body or the allusion of who I was supposed to be. _Me_. I didn’t have to feel shame or guilt or even regret. I could just _feel_.

Ryan held my face as we both awkwardly caught our breath, noses brushing and foreheads pressed together. The proximity made part of me uncomfortable, I had never stayed his close to someone just for the sake of intimacy and touch. There always had to be a reason before. But now, I was the reason myself. It only had to be me. Ryan pulled back and looked at me with bright eyes, breaking into a laugh as I seemed to shrink under them. His fingers brushed hair behind my ear and made sure my glasses sat evenly on my nose. He leaned forward, and I braced myself to feel the pulse of electricity, but he turned his head and kissed me lightly on the cheek, his hands falling and resting on my own.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Ryan asked quietly, his thumb brushing the top of my hand. Yes, there were. Many, many things. In no particular order.

“No. Nothing I can think of right now… Nothing important.” I replied, shaking my head.

“Do you mind if I, uh,” Ryan stumbled over his words in a way I hadn’t seen before. He sounded nervous. “if I _ask_ you things?”

“What do you mean?”

“When things come up, can I ask?” Ryan repeated. I kept looking at him with confusion. “I mean, you’re getting to see _my_ childhood- or at least the good part of it- and if we are on a topic, can I ask about your family? Or am I not allowed to know? Because I completely understand if-”

“It’s fine.” I assured Ryan, smiling at his sincerity. “You can ask me if you want. I’d be okay with that.” I trusted Ryan to keep Brendon safe, secrets and all.

“But nothing about Brent.”

“I would prefer not.”

“Okay.” Ryan nodded. “I won’t ask about that.” He didn’t even dignify Brent as a person, but a phase. A way of life I passed through to return to my true self. It was just a story, a past that followed too close; it didn’t even deserve a name.

“Thank you.” I replied compulsively, feeling embarrassed the minute I acted like the conversation we had required an expression of thanks. Everything Ryan and I said was an understood expression of trust and safe secrecy; I never had to _thank him_. We were in this together, in more ways than one. I never had to say it, he just knew. “I just mean, fuck-”

“I know.” Ryan nodded, smiling at me. He still knew me. He squeezed my hand and shook it lightly. “Now, let’s go back to Spencer and Ginger. They’re probably looking for us.”

“Can’t imagine what they think.” I laughed, standing from Ryan’s bed. I flattened my shirt and brushed the giddiness off my face.

“Exactly what you’d think.” Ryan winked. “Little Ryan brought his boyfriend along to celebrate a birthday said boyfriend is nowhere close to celebrating.”

I echoed Ryan’s laughter as we left his room, my smile falling the minute I was behind Ryan and out of his sight. Boyfriend. I had never been one of those before- well, not one where the counterpart could _also_ be called a boyfriend. I had Audrey, but that was a relationship that crumpled and crashed far too quickly to be called a shining moment in my life. I had cared about her, respected her, wished she was doing well in the chaos I made, but nothing about the forced double dates we went on or the awkward phone calls we could never seem to end was even remotely comparable to the way Ryan’s hand reached behind him to touch mine gently, guiding me down the stairs. I had been a runaway, but now I had a new place to call home. Someone to always guide me back.

“There you are.” Ginger and Spencer were sitting in the living room, both looking up at us as he came down the stairs. “I was just asking Spencer about work, and I was curious how yours was going, Ryan.”

“There’s nothing really to report, Ginger. I just wash shirts for a living. Nothing exhilarating.” Ryan sighed, dropping my hand and placing his hand on the banister as he swung around it.

“Well, you _know_ -”

“Don’t.” Ryan interrupted. “If I wasn’t content washing shirts, I would tell you.”

“You don’t get tired of your boss? Not even a little bit?” Spencer asked, definitely knowing the answer. Both Ginger and I had confused expressions while Ryan just stared at Spencer with an expression of disbelief laced with irritation. We weren’t even going to be allowed a moment of quiet bliss, holding hands and ignoring the rest of the world. Spencer was going to try and have his mother talk sense into him while we both were seemingly losing all of our own.

“What’s wrong with your boss?” Ginger asked, moving in her seat and making room for either of us to sit. Ginger and Spencer were on opposite couches, causing Ryan and I to separate. Ryan sat beside Ginger, allowing me to sit next to Spencer, still waiting for an answer.

“I can’t believe you are going to make her worry about this.” Ryan sighed, glaring at Spencer.

“Somebody’s got to twist your arm. Can’t keep secrets forever, Ryan. You are too good at it.” Spencer replied with a knowing tone. The sentence struck me as odd; Ryan was honest, wasn’t he? He _just_ told me things. Some things, I thought.

“I have to let my boss think Spencer is my brother. Or else he’d fire me.” Ryan sighed, avoiding eye contact with Ginger, who immediately gasped and looked appalled at the situation. “It’s not a big deal, Ginger.”

“That’s horrible!” She continued, not noting the nonchalance in Ryan’s voice. “How could he do that?”

“Because he hates gay people.” Ryan replied evenly. “If I have to sit through another rant about ‘ _those damn gays_ ’, I think I’m just better off being unemployed, honestly.”

“You can’t be out at work?” I asked, interrupting the fade-out Ryan was hoping for. I was now a bigger part of the equation than before; I visited Ryan at work frequently. I didn’t want to get him _fired_.

“ _No_.” Ryan laughed.

“But Dallon-”

“Is an odd phenomenon of a man.” Ryan held a finger up to Ginger, knowing she was about to inquire about the new name appearing in our conversation. “I don’t get to just walk around _gay as can be_. There are rules.” I expected Ryan to sound mocking, but he kept an even expression. He was used to the abuse. The rules were laid at his feet and Ryan knelt to meet them.

I didn’t expect such acceptance from Ryan; he fought strangers over a simple slur, he refused to leave his home even though his landlord was homophobic, told me that there was nothing wrong with me and to be proud I stood up for myself, but the minute his boss showed a negative opinion, he clammed up? There was more to it. I just couldn’t find it. Ryan was impossible to read. The thunder and lightning fogged my vision.

“Rules. Right.” I echoed. That wasn’t what Dallon said. I could have both. I could if I wanted. I could have the life I wanted, and Ryan. I didn’t have to choose. I didn’t have to choose between being topically happy, or being seen with someone who made me happy. If I could have Ryan, I could have everything. But it didn’t seem like he had everything to give.

“I just don’t understand, Ryan. Why do you do this to yourself.” Ginger sighed, placing a hand on his knee.

“You’re not gay, Ginger.” Ryan spoke without malice. “I grew up with this; it’s just something you get used to.”

“Not in this house though.” Ginger said sternly, reaching over to take both his hands and cup them in both of her own. “Never in this house.”

The assurance was firm and made a sad smile droop on Ryan’s lips. I seemed to drift from the room as Spencer and Ginger made quiet noises of assurance, reaching over to pat his knee or continue to squeeze his hands. The shining glint in Ryan’s eyes had dimmed as he looked at Ginger, trying to assure her of his contentment with the situation. His smile was lopsided and only half complete.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one jealous of Dallon.


	2. Oceans Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter so far- hope you enjoy! It's been my favorite to write. There are some inklings left for you for some of this chapter... hope you saw them.  
> This chapter has some allusions to suicide and abuse, but nothing graphic. If the discussion of these topics bothers you, please be aware.

I had to sleep on the couch. Not that it was a rule that Ginger made clear, but I knew far better than to assume I was going to sleep anywhere else. Also, I didn’t think that Spencer’s childhood home would be the first place I ever shared a bed with someone that wasn’t Marc. I opted to stay on the couch. As Spencer and Ginger stood to begin getting blankets out of closets and pillows from other rooms, Ryan sat beside me, offering to sleep on the other couch. He said he didn’t want me to be alone in a house that wasn’t my own. The circumstances in which I woke up under Spencer’s care had very much prepared me for it. I had slept in cars, motels, and empty guest rooms; a couch by a locked front door would be no issue. He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead as he passed the couch, going up the steps to the second floor.

I wasn’t getting used to that any time soon. We didn’t have to pretend we were just casual strangers, pasts ignored in favor of the blissful ignorance provided by the current moment with Spencer or Ginger. Ryan wasn’t pretending he didn’t have questions and I didn’t have every willing answer.

I slept on the couch, spending half the night staring up at the ceiling bubbling with joy but also stirring confusion. There was melancholy attached to the following day; it wasn’t until all the lights were off and everyone was tucked into their own beds that the house began to speak to me. The pictures on the walls were noticeably more recent than most typical family homes; there wasn’t a picture that didn’t have Ryan. Various pictures of Spencer and Ryan in graduation robes with Jackie and Crystal, Jackie and Crystal’s birthday from a few years past with both boys standing behind the girls sitting at the table with a cake in front of them, even a small hanging frame of a Ginger with darker hair squeezing Ryan in an embrace far too tight to be comfortable for either of them. Ryan was a part of that family, but he definitely wasn’t the kind of person that needed to see his face on the walls to be reminded of it; Ryan had a big enough heart to hold all the Smiths close to him. But each picture was on display for everyone who walked in the door. The pictures were reassuring. They were protective. They were _reminders_. Ginger never wanted Ryan to doubt where he belonged.

I knew very little of where Ryan came from before the Smiths, but I figured that maybe Ginger did so with very good reason. I didn’t know, maybe never would.

* * *

I awoke the next morning, August thirtieth, nineteen eighty-two, to the horrifying sound of my name. My full name. The voice was stiff and foreboding- definitely not Spencer or Ryan- and unmistakably male- not Ginger either. The other words were washed out and I could barely understand them, but my name rang out against the static.

“Who’s there?” I asked groggily, grabbing a blanket to throw around my shoulders as I stood and followed the sounds. “Hello?”

“Bren?” I knew that voice: Ginger. “Oh. Dear, did we wake you?”

“No, it’s okay.” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. I didn’t have my glasses on and squinting could only sharpen so much before I had to simply inquire for myself. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, we were just listening to the radio.” Ginger responded, her voice suddenly solemn. “They were hoping to find that missing boy this month… It’s been so long. They are starting to worry.” _Starting_? No, they were starting to _panic_ because the last real lead was thinking they saw me in the Las Vegas Strip- but that was _months_ ago. Even if I had been there, I would have been far away by now. I guess they assumed depraved teenage boys only stayed around the center of depravity.

“That’s a shame.” I sighed, readjusting the blanket around my shoulders. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Yeah. It is.” Spencer agreed quietly. We both knew the Boy on the Radio was slipping through the fingers of those looking for him for a completely different reason than being broadcasted. We had slightly different versions in our heads, but Spencer at least knew that it wasn’t a sob story to be pitied. We both acknowledged the liberation.

The news spot finished with the listing of a phone number to call if any information had been found in regard to the angel of a boy about to miss the start of his first semester of college- which he didn’t even bother to apply to. Ginger wrote the number down, hanging it on the fridge. She was too kind for her own good. She couldn’t really imagine a child not wanting to be home. Or just couldn’t believe that a parent would treat a child in a way that could send them away. She didn’t know lost causes when she saw one.

Ginger clapped her hands, breaking the heavy silence weighing on us. “Now isn’t a time for sadness- it’s a very special birthday today.” She nodded to herself in agreement, tucking graying hairs behind her ears. “I’ll start making breakfast.”

“I’ll go wake Ryan.” Spencer said, agreeing with his mother’s change in attitude. “Can’t let him sleep through his birthday.”

“I’ll get him.” I volunteered, waving Spencer back, acting like I was the one doing him a favor.

“If you want.” Spencer replied, half of him sounding confused by the offer; the other, more prominent half, was smug as I turned to leave.

I took the stairs slowly, careful to not trip on the blankets as I tried to squint and guess the depth of each step. I knocked on Ryan’s door softly, waiting before turning the knob and poking my head inside.

“Ryan?” I whispered. Ryan’s figure was too blurry to tell if his eyes were open. “Ginger’s making you breakfast.” I was answered with an incomprehensible mumble. “Ryan, you kind of have to wake up.”

Ryan mumbled something again, this time more urgent, his sleeping figure stirring. I stepped closer and was able to finally see Ryan’s features; he was still sleeping, his eyes tightly pinched closed and jaw clenched tight. He was sleeping on his back, his arms by his side, almost clinically. He was mumbling quietly to himself, head turning from side to side and hands twisting the sheets under them. His hands fit right into the tears in his comforter; each rip just the right distance between Ryan’s fingers.

“Ryan?” I said again, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “Ryan, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

“No…” Ryan seemed to be arguing with me, but his eyes never opened. “Leave me alo- _no_. No. Why are- no.” He continued muttering. Most of his sentences overlapped others as he continued to have his nightmare.

“Ryan? Ryan, wake up. Just wake up, Ryan.” I shook his shoulder gently. His speech and movement stilling as I lifted my hand. His face relaxed for a moment just as I reached out to touch his shoulder again. “Ryan?”

Ryan shot up in bed, screaming as he did. We both went sprawling backwards, startled by the other. Ryan’s scream died out as he inhaled quickly, gasping at his sudden alertness. His eyes were wide and wet. Ryan blinked quickly to establish his surroundings and get the forming tears to stop from falling down his cheeks. His hands shook as he pushed his hair back, barely processing I was there.

“Ryan?” I whispered, keeping my distance and tugging my blanket tighter around me. “Are you okay?”

“Brendon?” He turned and blinked at me, not sure if I was real or another illusion ready to terrify him.

“Ryan, what happened?”

“Nothing… Just a bad dream. I’m okay. Fine.” Ryan’s breathing was still heaving and uneven, his hands splaying over his chest, feeling his heartbeat; feeling if he was really awake. Really alive.

“Are you sure?” I sat down on the bed carefully, squinting to see his expression. He nodded and blurred his face, leaving me to watch him nervously.

“Positive.” Ryan breathed, smoothing his hair. His fingers ran over his temple, pulling away and looking at his fingers with a relieved expression. There was nothing there. No blood. “Is everyone else up?” He asked, evading the subject. Before, I would have let him, but lies were not something I wanted to keep the habit of letting live between us.

“Ryan, how often do you have those?” I had never heard of Ryan waking up in a cold sweat, shouting at the ghosts only he could see torturing him. Spencer would have mentioned it; made an overtly kind gesture to make sure he was taken care of.

“Just- sometimes.” Ryan muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Not as much since living with Spencer.” We had awoken the ghosts yesterday; his safe place being compromised by my entrance.

“I’m sorry.” I opened an arm of my blanket to Ryan.

“It’s okay.” He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, his exhale deflating him and causing him to tip over and fall into my side. He ran a hand over his face, covering his expression until eventually his hands fell to his lap. He was exhausted; his eyes were half open and red, there were shadows growing underneath them, showing how many nights I hadn’t seen end like this.

“Ginger is making breakfast.” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “We should probably go down there before Spencer comes looking for us.”

“True.” Ryan laughed quietly. “Can’t let him see us like this.” He turned his head and kissed me. It was short and the punctuation to his sentence. I was shocked by the affection, staring at Ryan dumbly before sputtering and getting up as well. Ryan dug around in a drawer before pulling out a gray sweatshirt and pulling it over himself and pulling his hands into the sleeves. The sweatshirt had four red letters stretching across the front: UNLV. Ryan seemed so distracted that he wouldn’t even know what it meant if I asked. He waved me after him, leaving the room and slamming the door behind me. He grabbed my hand and placed it on his shoulder, leading me down the stairs, the blanket getting under foot twice and almost sending me onto Ryan’s back. Once on the landing, we could hear Ginger and Spencer’s chatting, hushed by without any brevity. Ryan dug around in the couch for a moment before extending a blurry hand out towards me, my glasses perched on the tips of his fingers.

The fully sharpened image of Ryan shivering in his oversized sweatshirt, flannel pants, bare feet, while attempting to wipe the exhaustion out of his eyes wasn’t reminiscent of any birthday I had ever experienced.

“You look fine.” I assured him. “If they ask, just say I kept you up last night. Came in to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Yeah, and that won’t lead to an hour’s worth of questions.” Ryan muttered, rolling his eyes as he smoothed his hair down again. “I prefer not getting Ginger to that headspace; I at least know how to answer her other questions.”

“Okay.” I nodded, letting Ryan continue to walk to the kitchen. “But in case you change your mind, I know a great liar.”

“Me too.” Ryan said quietly, turning away to walk through the archway and into the light of the kitchen. He recoiled from the brightness and rubbed his eyes again. “Morning everyone.”

“Happy birthday, Ryan!” Spencer and Ginger had the same tone; Ryan’s scream must’ve transcended past the bedroom door.

“Thank you.” He stood awkwardly in the archway, smiling and nodding at the well-wishes.

“Sleep okay?” Spencer asked. His subtly seemed to be reduced by the presence of his family home.

“Not as comfortable without someone kicking me all night.” He teased, crossing the kitchen after kissing Ginger on the cheek to do the same to Spencer

“Weird sleeping alone for you too?” Spencer laughed, looping an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’re all grown up now; you won’t be alone for long.” I assumed Spencer was referencing the near future when we would all return home and Ryan and Spencer would share their bedroom again. Ryan’s hard nudge to Spencer’s ribs suggested differently. I retracted my laughter and quickly sat down at the small dining table quietly.

“That’s a nice sweatshirt, Ryan.” Ginger said coyly, handing me a cup of tea; I didn’t even ask.

Ryan looked down at himself and sighed. “I was cold, Ginger. Don’t get any ideas.” Ryan told her firmly, but with enough kindness to avoid sounding ungrateful for the compliment.

“Oh, I know. I’m just saying… The collegiate look is very nice on you, Ryan.” She wasn’t wrong. “The University would be lucky to have you, I’m sure.” She replied, pretending her words were guilt free. “It _is_ a little big on you, though.”

“It was big when you bought it.” Ryan pointed out, slapping Spencer’s hand away as it tugged on the extra fabric hanging around his waist. “You somehow think I’ll grow up to be just like Spencer.”

“Not like Spencer. Just get a little more meat on your bones.” Ginger said, holding the sides of Ryan’s face for a moment before continuing to walk around the kitchen. “You still never gained all that weight back.”

“Didn’t know it was a requirement.” Ryan said. “I’ve been living just fine.”

“Yes, but you’re just a little too skinny. Both you and Bren.” She replied, taking eggs out of the refrigerator. “The two of you need to take care of each other- can’t have two skinny boys. I raise strong, healthy children.”

“I’ll watch him, don’t worry.” I assured Ginger, being sure to raise my cup to my lips to hide my smirk. Ryan saw it and allowed his playful glare to land on me from across the kitchen.

“Watch me?” Ryan mouthed, quirking an eyebrow. I nodded and tilted my mug back. He rolled his eyes and swatted a hand at me before leaning into Spencer’s side. Spencer looked over at him, his eyebrows furrowing as his hand slipped around his waist. He opened his mouth but Ryan held a finger up to him immediately. “You sleep next to me every night. You know how skinny I am. You don’t get to make a comment because now you have people to pull me off of you when I decide to kick your ass.”

“I- okay.” Spencer mumbled, pressing his lips together and agreeing to stay silent.

I had questions of my own, but also knew better than to ask them- or any at all. Ryan was a walking paradox; he was open and willing to be open with others, but was one of the most secretive and quiet people I knew. He would welcome you into his home, but not tell you his first name. He would cut your hair, but pretend his own struggles didn’t exist. He would listen to you cry, but act like he never did. He could kiss you, but never tell you what kept him up at night. I knew he wasn’t keeping secrets from me _specifically_ , trying to keep me in the dark, but was trying to push it away. He didn’t want those memories to interfere with the ones being formed presently. I understood; it was Brent’s main purpose after all. But it still made me feel like there would always be a part of Ryan I would never know. He kept a part of himself a stranger for safety and I was the fool who was giving him everything.

Suddenly, I felt like I had brought the worst part of myself with me from Summerlin: Marc.

But Ryan was nothing like Marc- he couldn’t be. Ryan held my hand without making me promise to not say anything to anyone; kissed me softly and like he had full paragraphs waiting on his lips, but could only articulate them with mine; listened to my silences the same way he would any words of mine. Ryan cared about me in a way Marc never seemed capable of. But with that care, I _thought_ there would be honesty; that at least both Ryan and Marc shared. I had consistency.

I didn’t want to be hesitant with Ryan; he had every right to keep his past a secret and I had every right to tell him mine. But I couldn’t help but feel like if any of us wanted to break loose and run without any connection tying them down, it wouldn’t be me. Spencer and Ginger knew better than to chase, and I was horribly clueless. Ryan had asked me not to run anymore, but what if it was only so he could go first-

“It’s just breakfast, Bren.”

“What?” I had been staring blankly at Ginger; the last person to have spoken to me even though her words did not register with me.

“She asked you if you wanted your eggs scrambled or over-easy.” Ryan repeated, suddenly sitting beside me. He blinked at me slowly, his hand nudging mine on the table. Our skin touched and I could feel ourselves clicking back in-sync; my heartbeat thumping in response to the one I felt pulsing lightly against my hand. “Bren? Hello?” Ryan laughed as I shook myself from the spell; jostling my heart, and its metronome, loose from its beat.

“Scrambled please.” I replied, curling my fingers into my hand, away from Ryan. “Thank you.”

While Ginger cooked, Spencer prodded Ryan about his birthday. Ryan seemed willing for Spencer but also kept bumping his knee into mine every time Spencer spoke.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Spencer asked, bumping shoulders with Ryan.

“How do I want to celebrate the last important birthday that doesn’t just celebrate my approaching mortality?” Ryan asked, his voice flat and expression still cold.

“Ryan.” Ginger said firmly. “That’s not funny.”

“It is to me.”

“You worked hard for this. Don’t make it into a joke.” Ginger looked genuinely upset by Ryan’s comment as she placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. She raised an eyebrow at Ryan as he quietly apologized. “You celebrate today and you feel proud, you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Thank you.” Her expression returned to a grin as she leaned over and kissed his head, just above his temple. “Happy birthday, Ryan.”

Ginger went back to cooking and left her comments to hang in the room, untouched by any other conversation; nothing else felt worthy. Pride in an age was another secret the house, and Ryan, withheld from me. Another mystery that the Smith house swallowed up and kept from the apartment. One I could live my whole life not knowing.

Ginger was frying an egg for Spencer when our silence was interrupted by the phone ringing. The phone hung on the wall by the window, adjacent to the hanging cabinet. Spencer volunteered to answer it first; he seemed surprised that anyone other than him was calling it.

“Hello? This is Spencer.” Spencer didn’t have to specify any further; he was in his home. They would know him if they had their number. I was reminded of late night phone calls from Marc, guilt and all. It still made part of me miss home. “Yeah… Yeah, give me a minute. He’s right here.” Ryan and I both froze. “Ryan, it’s for you.”

“Me?” Ryan echoed, placing his fork down. “Who could even possibly know that I am here?” Ryan pushed himself away from the table, reaching out to meet Spencer’s hand. Spencer hesitantly handed it over, sure to keep covering the receiver.

“It’s Pete.”

“Pete?” Ryan stopped, his hand nearly dropping the phone. “What does he- hello?” Ryan said slowly. “Hi, Pete. Yeah, it _has_ been a while…”

Ryan turned away from us and spoke into the corner, his back to us. Spencer had been supporting a faint smile up until Ryan turned away. The minute Ryan was no longer looking, his face fell, a glare landing on his mother.

“What did you do?” He asked her in a hushed whisper. I pretended to be far more invested in my eggs.

“Nothing, I just told Pete that Ryan would be home for his birthday… Told him that maybe he was interested in going back to school.”

“ _Mom_.” Spencer hissed, his eyes nervously darting over to Ryan. “Why?”

“He needs all the distractions he can get, Spencer. Especially now. He’ll deal with all Pete’s bull and barely notice.” Ginger replied, her voice soft but stern; a mother’s instinct.

“Are you sure this was the way to do it?”

“You have any other ideas?” Ginger asked, looking at Spencer with raised eyebrows. “Telling him isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know, but-” Spencer stopped short as Ryan began turning back, the phone still pressed to his ear. “ _Later_.” He said, lifting his lips back into a smile.

“Yeah, I still don’t know, Pete. I- Yeah, I don’t know. I’ll let you know, I guess. Okay. Okay. Yeah, nice to hear from you too. Thanks. Bye.” Ryan stared at the phone as he hung it on the wall.

“What did he want?” Spencer asked.

“He wanted to wish me a happy birthday.” Ryan said, looking at us with a furrowed expression. “And tell me that if I needed anything, he still had the same office number.”

“Old flames reaching out for a birthday? That’s weird.” Spencer tried to act nonchalant, but obviously when a lie wasn’t crafted in his own mind, covering it up was far harder. There were parts he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Yeah. Weird.” Ryan repeated. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

I sat beside Ryan with raised eyebrows, waiting for someone to answer my obviously unspoken questions. Why did Spencer call him an ‘old flame’? I was sure Ryan had never mentioned a Pete before. He never mentioned any other man before. It was just the three of us. The two of us.

It occurred to me then that Ryan had a history of boyfriends and kisses behind him. I only had Marc still settling under my skin- another secret between us- but Ryan was three years older than me. He knew how to navigate relationships and intimacy. I only had Marc. Maybe the ways Ryan and Marc were similar were with reason; this was how people were meant to connect. With secrets and trapdoors. But then, why was I always the one to say too much? Why me? Why _not_ me?

“Who’s Pete?”

Ryan didn’t expect the question and looked at me with surprise; I didn’t lower my voice or act casual. I was being rude, I knew it. But it came from curiosity. It was harder to keep down. Ryan woke up in far more mystery than when he left me the night before.

“Uh, no one.” Ryan answered. I felt like I had been shoved in the chest, my entire body deflating as I failed to even accept the answer.

_Nothing, Brandon. Just forget about it. He’s nobody. Stop asking questions. Just **stop** , okay_?

“He’s not no one.” Spencer corrected, seeming to notice the shock Ryan was missing as he stared down at his plate. “You knew him for like three years.” I felt sick.

“Three years?” I echoed, hoping the joke would be stopped.

Ryan noticed the worry in my expression the minute my voice lowered. “No- he was the councilor for UNLV. He was a junior back then helping high school kids apply to college. I knew him for the last two years of high school. He was trying to get me to go to college. We were friends for a while. But I never ended up going to college. So. That didn’t work out.” Ryan explained, holding his hand out to me, showing his innocence.  “I haven’t spoken to him in like, two years.” He said that strictly for my benefit. He could be honest. Ryan wasn’t Marc- I knew that, I had to. But I still wanted him to be honest about everything. Including the reasons he wanted to keep things secret. Why would Pete be a secret?

Down the line, would I be too? Would I be another secret consumed by the house? Better than a convenience, I guess.

I finished my breakfast without another question. There were far too many to be fair.

“Did he say anything else?” Ginger asked, her smile still genuine and curious.

“Nope.” Ryan said, shaking his head and looking away from me. “Just- he’s part of the alumni association so if I needed some help applying, he said he would help me.” The words fell out of Ryan’s mouth awkwardly, like it was a memory he didn’t know how to relive.

“Well, that’s good.” Ginger nodded. “Are you thinking about going back?” She asked like Pete’s interest in Ryan was a surprise.

“No.” Ryan was firm and unchanging from his answers the day before. If anything, the phone call pushed him farther in the opposite direction of Ginger’s wishes.

“Why not?” 

“Because.” Ryan had no other words for Ginger.

“Ryan, you aren’t getting any younger.”

“You know, on my birthday, that idea never crossed my mind.” Ryan replied, his words sarcastic and heavy. Ginger opened her mouth and Ryan help up a hand. “You know why I didn’t go. _Please_. I am too exhausted to have this conversation. I want to sleep.”

“I’m just trying to-”

“Mom, please.” Ryan sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “Maybe later. I just- not now okay.” Ryan sounded young and defenseless, begging Ginger to just let him have a moment to breathe before she pressed on.

Ryan shuffled out of the room quickly, blending a storm-out and a surrender, leaving Ginger and Spencer to continue to stare at each other, and me to collect the plates and place them in the sink. I let the water run over them, giving Spencer and Ginger’s whispered conversation the privacy it deserved.

As Ginger and Spencer continued to mutter, I could sense that my involvement in their plan was neither needed nor wanted. I decided to leave the water running and began to wash the dishes, just like I used to do for my mother. Dinner always served seven people; there were always dishes to wash. I, of course, being the youngest was the one to always make sure they were cleaned and put away.

I realized that was something new to tell Ryan, paint a clearer picture of who Brendon was for him, but then again, why would I when he kept skewing his picture each time I squinted to decode it. I kept telling myself not to get angry, not to blame Ryan. I didn’t know anything; I didn’t know his life before me- before Spencer. Which was the problem.

How could I comfort someone that wouldn’t let me in?

Spencer and Ginger finished their conversation as I began cleaning the last plate, Spencer coming up and placing the mug he had been using to negate his fists from clenching beside the sink apologetically. He looked guilty, but not because he was giving me more work.

“What is he doing?” I asked, taking the mug.

“Sleeping.” Spencer replied. “He just needs a little nap and he should be good for a full day of celebrations.” His cheerfulness seemed inappropriate and forced.

“Does… Do those nightmares happen often?” I didn’t look up from the sink, voice mildly drowned out by the running faucet. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted an answer.

“Uh, no.” Spencer said, looking over his shoulder at the living room before sighing and stepping closer. “He had them more when he was younger. Recently? No. Haven’t seen one in a long time… Been waiting for one, but nothing yet.” Spencer slept beside Ryan every night, prepared and anxiously awaiting him to start muttering in his sleep, in need of assurance that he was safe. Maybe sheets weren’t the only reason Spencer chose to share a bed with his childhood friend. “Guess this was the last straw…”

“What are they from?” Spencer definitely knew; he’d tell me. Anything to cure the guilt twisting his lips into an awkward smile.

“Don’t know, actually.” Spencer admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ryan never told me.”

I had no hope.

“But you two-”

“Sometimes, Ryan saves things. He saves them and waits… waits for it to go away. Waits for the person he knows he can trust. That person has been me for our entire lives, but… there must be someone else for this kind of stuff.” Spencer shrugged at me and turned to leave the kitchen.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Let him breathe.” Spencer answered, standing in the archway. “He gets quiet before he starts talking. He panics. Sometimes runs, but mostly just keeps quiet. Just wait.”

He wasn’t hiding. He was waiting. He was getting ready. How could I have been so blind to the exact pattern I held hack in 3C? The isolation, the fear, the secrets I was gripping tightly to my chest every time Ryan or Spencer spoke to me, afraid I would slip up and spill everything at their feet.

I finished washing the dishes and made sure they were all dry and put away correctly before going out to the living room. Spencer had taken up the couch opposite of Ryan; leaving me to only sit beside him. Ryan was curled up on one cushion, feet pressed up against the armrest and head tucked into the large collar of his sweatshirt. I sat beside him and tried not to disturb him. He stirred in his sleep, rubbing his face with a sleeve covered hand, and I felt my body tense up, ready to wake him if he began talking. Spencer was watching TV and barely noticed us. I placed my hand on Ryan’s head carefully and brushed a curl from his face. On the TV, there was a breaking news story about the Boy on the TV, but I didn’t care to listen; it was a lie anyway. I kept carding my fingers through Ryan’s hair instead, far more interested in his lies than the ones on the screen.

“They’re talking about you.” Ryan mumbled, not opening his eyes, but knowing it was me. “My boy’s all famous. On every major local news station this week.”

“Wish it came with benefits.” I muttered.

“I think it does.” He replied, stretching out and letting his head rest on my lap. “At least for me.” He reached up and grabbed my hand, wrapping his fingers around it and holding it close to his chest.

“I hope that kid is okay.” Spencer sighed, searching for the remote to turn up the volume. Brendon’s pictures now getting more heart-wrenching; baby pictures, pictures with my Sunday school group, first days of school.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” I answered, trying not to sound too sure of myself; I didn’t actually know.

“I really hope so.” Ryan’s words were quiet. He spoke directly into my hand, thinking I would be able to hear it. “I hope he’s somewhere safe.”

“He is.” I was sure of that much.

I sat with Ryan while Spencer and I tried to watch TV, only to be inundated with more information about a boy they would never find. They had begun looking in every dark corner of the Earth, hoping to discover the villains who captured me. Too bad they’d never consider checking in suburban Las Vegas to find an oblivious mother-son pair and two secretive runners. The news was interviewing local places in Summerlin as well as neighboring towns who were starting to reach out. It was odd seeing people I passed by chance in the hallway once every three weeks speak out on my behalf; they made me sound so important. It hurt to know they were only lying.

A segment ended with my old English teacher before a new camera was zooming in on a church I didn’t recognize. The town surrounding it was foreign, not even a place I had passed through in any previous life of mine. It was nothing to me. I didn’t know it. But I did know the man standing in front of it.

“Is that fucking _Dallon_?” I asked, jostling Ryan’s side and startling him.

Dallon was standing in front of the church, arms resting by his sides and shoulders back in the poised and friendly way we all knew, but with a tone we didn’t. “We are reaching out and trying to do everything we can to find Brendon. We are sending his picture out to every homeless shelter, hotel, motel, school, park, and police station within a couple hundred miles of his hometown. We might not have known him, but he is one of us. We want to make sure he’s safe; we want to bring him home.”

“Oh no.” Ryan muttered, pushing himself up and staring at the TV. “Not Dallon too.” All the stories he had told to aid my lies and he was going to destroy me in the same breath.

“He’s just trying to feel useful, I’m sure.” Spencer offered, unsure why Ryan and I were staring at the TV with wide eyes, my stomach sinking with fear.

Dallon told me himself that you _shouldn’t_ leave the Mormon church. He was living proof that the community came around. He didn’t blame Brendon, I don’t think, but he was definitely praying that he would be returned to the community. He thought he would be doing Brendon a favor. Dallon thought it truly was the best thing for him. He was too positive to consider the other options. The sun shone too brightly in Dallon’s eyes; it blinded him to the shadows being cast behind him.

“Dallon, come on, man.” Ryan sighed. “You are making it worse.” My picture was going to be plastered everywhere. Someone was bound to recognize me. I was far less safe than I had been before, all because someone thought too highly of the tolerance level of my own home.

“I thought he’d understand.” I said, looking at Ryan with my best attempt at a neutral expression. “He told me he wanted to leave. I thought he would understand my reasons.”

“I know. I know.” Ryan muttered, looking at Spencer and making sure he wasn’t watching our exchange. “Maybe he’s just the spokesperson. You know how diplomatic Dallon is.” Ryan’s eyes were still half-lidded and his words were slow with fatigue, but he tried with every bit of energy he had to comfort me. To protect me. “I’m sure he’ll understand.” Ryan sounded promising, like there was a planned future of me telling Dallon, or even _Spencer_ , about where I came from. How I just happened to land at their doorstep and come into their lives. I let Ryan think I was on my way to living a full life of complete visibility and protection from more than one person, but really, I was plotting a new way to submerge myself in a world of hiding and lies. Ryan complicated things, seeing as though I couldn’t leave him or block him out again. In the shaking chaos of the news showing my picture on half the screen for the rest of the segment, Ryan’s comforting touch grounded me.

Psychically, I was free from the chains of Summerlin, but my memories there had latched onto me, preventing another step forward, step _away_. But that’s when I was living both lives completely alone. Now, I had Ryan. He knew at least some of the memories that lurked in the churchyards and front porches of Summerlin. Ryan allowed the memoires to come with me; I didn’t have to be that person _stuck_ in that place, pinned to my past life. Ryan pulled me free. He’d never let me go; he’d always have a hold on me. But he’d never let me hold onto him. He grabbed my wrist, tugging me away from the memories lurking behind me, only to let me watch as the shadows hovered over him, letting them latch onto him again, forcefully turning his head away from me as we pulled apart.

Ryan had only told Spencer his secrets, cementing himself further in the life he wanted to let pass him by. Ryan was quiet. I was letting him breathe, hoping he would let me finally grab his hand and pull him from his own ghostly chains.

I placed a real hand over Ryan’s and mustered up a smile, my eyes stinging and brief tears coming from nowhere. Ryan’s return was a warm and genuine grin, his face glowing as he tried to sooth the panicked wrinkles off of my face. That much, Ryan always let me see; Ryan never hid happiness from me.

“You’re still safe with me.” I wanted more than anything to be able to say the same back to Ryan.

“Turn that off, Spencer. We don’t need that sad story on today.” Ginger said, coming into the living room tying an apron around her waist. Ryan sighed beside me and stared down at his hands, looking embarrassed.

“Ginger, it’s fine.” Ryan argued. “I can handle a little dramatic TV.” I didn’t think anyone had insinuated he couldn’t.

“I know, but I am just so proud of you, Ryan. I don’t want anything to upset you today of all days.” She leaned down and held his chin before kissing his forehead. It was still odd to see someone taking care of Ryan; he was typically the person who did that for himself.

“I’m fine. I’ve had my fair share of things upsetting me, and the local news station doesn’t quite have what it takes to bother me.” Ryan told her, his tone flat. “Although I appreciate the thought that I have far more feelings than I do.”

“Oh hush, Ryan.” Ginger sighed, slapping his shoulder lightly. “You are a beautiful person inside and out.”

“You hear that?” Ryan muttered, turning to lean into me. His hand landed on my thigh and I just kept nodding, ignoring the tightening twist in my stomach. “I have redeeming qualities apparently.”

“I had no idea.” I said, trying to match Ryan’s tone.

“Oh, shut up, Ryan, and just tell me what kind of cake you want.” Ginger said firmly, slapping his back and getting him to turn away from me.

“You don’t have to make me a cake, Ginger. I’m twenty-one. All I need is something burning to blow out, really. Like the candle. Or just a match. Or a cigarette- I’ll take that actually. A cigarette would be perfect-”

“You don’t smoke.” I said stupidly, stopping the conversation. “You don’t smoke, Ryan.”

“Not anymore, no.” Ryan replied, acting like my attention to the fact was misplaced. “I quit five years ago. On my birthday.” He turned back to Ginger, who didn’t look amused. “Full circle!”

“How could you have quit five years ago.” I continued pursuing the only bit of truth that was being laid out for me. “You were… _sixteen_?”

“Yeah.” Ryan softened his tone and nodded at my statement. “I picked up smoking when I was thirteen. Quit three years later… Cold turkey kinda.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Ryan looked like he wanted to laugh- of _course_ I didn’t know; why would I- but the minute a smile crept onto his face, it twisted and his face fell, his eyebrows furrowing lightly and his eyes darting to look away from my face. How could he laugh at my surprise? He was the one who was keeping the secrets. “I know. I never told you.”

“Ryan, what would you like?” Ginger asked, not noticing the guilt consuming Ryan’s face and causing him to shrink further into his sweatshirt. “Just the same as usual?”

“Sure.” Ryan nodded, satisfying Ginger’s question and letting her turn away and leave. Spencer pretended to be needed in the kitchen, quickly following his mother’s footsteps and leaving the room. Ryan’s face was pale and his eyes never looked up from the distant world he was staring into.

“Ryan?”

“I started smoking when I was thirteen and I quit when I was sixteen. I smoke for three years.” Ryan said quickly, looking up at me with wide eyes.

“I- yes.” I nodded, looking at him with confusion. “I _just_ learned that.”

“I know. But now I’m telling you.” Ryan said. “Now I’ve told you.” He didn’t want to apologize, but I could hear it leaking into his voice.

“Okay…” I nodded my head again, slowly. “Is… Is there anything _else_ you want to tell me?” I waited; this could be my chance. We breathed. Ryan thought for a moment, pulling his sleeves over his hands. He inhaled, but it only escaped as a sigh.

“No. Not right now.”

He didn’t trust me enough yet. We were able to live with perfect synchronicity, every part of ourselves matching up with the other, but he still didn’t trust me with all of himself. What was I doing wrong? What could be so bad? What part of himself did Ryan think I would turn away from? Any past he lived through was important enough to be told, to be felt again, to be angry over, to be comforted for, to be acknowledge. Ryan had a past that existed both in and out of the Smith house, and neither one was more important than the other.

“Well,” I continued, moving to relax into the couch more, trying to get Ryan to have a relaxed expression for the first time since he woke up that day. “I have something to tell _you_.”

“Yeah?” Ryan said with uncertainty.

“Have I ever told you how many siblings I have?”

“You have not.” Ryan replied. “What do you have like, an annoying little brother?”

“Actually, no. I am the annoying little brother.” I laughed. “I have two older brothers and two older sisters.”

“ _Four_? You have _four_ other siblings?” Ryan repeated in disbelief. I could tell a joke was formulating behind his tone, watching his lips finally pull into a smile.

“You have three!” I countered. “If Spencer had a twin too and you’d be living in the same situation.”

“But he doesn’t.” Ryan objected. “And I didn’t even live here all the time, so really, Ginger raised three kids and a stray dog.”

“Fine. You didn’t have a giant Mormon family.” I laughed, putting my hands up in surrender. “You win. I get it.”

“Seriously though, the total number of people in the Smith family is the same as how many _children_ your family had.” Ryan pointed out, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to come around.

“Had?”

“Well, one obviously is not there at the moment.” Ryan muttered, motioning to me sitting beside him.

“I could be though…” I reminded him, Dallon’s speech still buzzing in my ears. I didn’t want Dallon to find me; with his efforts, God’s eyes could find their way on me again after months of sneaking around unadvised.

“You’re not, Brendon. You’re not going back.” Ryan grabbed my hands and gripped them tightly, letting his fingers wrap around mine. “You won’t ever have to go back.”

The far-reaching promise didn’t seem possible. “I mean, _eventually_ I’m sure-”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Ryan countered. He sounded frustrated, his face tense and lips pressed into a tight line. Expressing my doubt was butting up against his persistence and protection of Brendon- that boy he saw part of himself mirrored in. If I was unsure of Brendon’s ability to live independently, I was doubting Ryan. Doubting Ryan’s ability to keep his own lifestyle as well as continue to support mine. “I never went back, and neither will you.” Not knowing Ryan’s journey that brought him to the Smith home made me unsure of the promise.

“Are you sure, I mean-”

“Just, trust me.” Ryan asked with bone humming sincerity, his fingers slotting between my own, our cores two magnets, tugging closer to each other. He was asking like it wasn’t the easiest part of all of this.

“I do.” I nodded, shifting nervously closer to Ryan. “Do you?”

“Like I’ve known you my whole life-”

Ryan closed the distance I was afraid to cover and kissed me. My body remained rigid and hands stiffened against Ryan’s as we both heard clattering coming from the kitchen. Ryan broke into a smile and pulled away from me slowly.

“You two need any help?” Ryan called, leaning his head against the back of the couch.

“No.” Ginger answered firmly. “You cannot help bake your own birthday cake.”

“So many damn rules in this house.” Ryan sighed dramatically, winking at me.

“Maybe I should go help.” I said, motioning to stand. Ryan kept his grip on my hands and pulled me back down. He obviously disagreed. “What if they walk back in?”

“We aren’t doing anything terrible.” Ryan laughed at my innate naivety. “We are just sitting next to each other.”

“Yeah, but-” 

“Ginger doesn’t care.” Ryan continued. “She’s not going to get upset if she sees you holding my damn hand.” He rolled his eyes and squeezed my hand playfully. “She doesn’t care about it; boys, girls- _whatever_. Ginger has never spent a second of her life caring.” He smiled at me softly, head still leaning back on the couch, his eyes taking in my stiff form. “You’re safe with Ginger too.” He was speaking from experience.

“I know that.” I nodded, leaning my head down across from Ryan’s. “I have just… you know…” Ryan looked at our hands, then at my lips, trying to figure out what I was referencing. The word was prodding at my tongue. Ryan had said it first. I could say it. It was already in the air above us. “Never had a boyfriend.”

Ryan’s eyebrows raised casually as he continued to look at me. “Really? None? Didn’t you say something about some guy you were with? It’s why you left in the first place?” Not only did Ryan listen, he remembered.

“Marc?” I offered. Ryan nodded and I considered the thought before shaking my head with amusement as well as sincerity. “Marc was _not_ my boyfriend.”

Marc never told me he trusted me- and I sure as hell never trusted Marc the way I trusted Ryan. Sure, at the time, I thought that Marc was the only one for me, the one I could trust my every thought with. I thought he was the one who saw the real me beneath all my disguises. But all Marc saw was what he had dreamt in his mind and projected onto my fragile core, adding one more layer to my costume. Even at that very moment, Marc was searching all over God’s green Earth for a Brendon that he had never even met; the Brendon that my parents thought they had raised. Marc didn’t even stop to trace the motives to my disappearance. He had seen me at my most vulnerable, my most open and honest, and he still believed that I couldn’t have been the one to pick myself up and run. Marc wanted to let the blame fall on everyone else except me. Except him. He remembered what he said to me the day I disappeared. He remembered calling me a convenience; all that time, trust, and touch was as disposable as that apple core. That wasn’t the definition of a boyfriend. I may only have had naïve ideas of what relationships were _supposed_ to be like, but I knew when to demand decent respect for myself. Or at least, I did _now_. Brendon was a slow learner.

“I haven’t had any either.” Ryan said, the sentence shocking me. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him- I trusted that what Ryan was telling me was the truth. But, looking at him, and listening to him speak at _any_ time to Spencer, I found that slightly hard to believe.

“You don’t count Spencer?” I joked, looking toward the kitchen.

“Spencer’s something completely different.” Ryan shook his head. “Definitely not a boyfriend though.” Ryan still maintained the sentence that he didn’t have any. But, if Spencer didn’t count then-

“What about Pete?”

Ryan snorted and covered his face with one hand. “Pete was _not_ any kind of boyfriend.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, trying to pull on the thread Ryan left out for me. I laughed along with him as I asked questions. “I thought you guys were friends for a long time.”

“Friends is not a term I would use for Pete.” Ryan corrected, furrowing his eyebrows as he seemed to be filtering through the memories in front of his eyes. The ones he refused to let show across his face and be seen by anyone else.

“I thought he was going to get you into college?”

“He was.” Ryan nodded. “But, I mean, we obviously talked about things that didn’t involve tuition and admission papers, Brendon.” He quirked an eyebrow and I sat back in my chair. “Well, actually, maybe _talk_ isn’t the right word.”

“Oh.”

“And then when I didn’t apply… For my own reasons… we just lost contact. Until today.” Ryan explained, running a hand through his hair. Ryan’s eyes began to wander, losing focus on everything and just focusing on the distance between him and the wall behind me. I wasn’t sure if I had pulled on the string too much, tearing a gaping hole in the disguise Ryan had pulled tightly over himself. I stop pulling and let the string go.

“So, none. Okay. That’s fine-”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t really care. I mean, why would-”

“My dad never really let me have any.”

“What?” I stopped and leaned closer to Ryan. He had muttered quietly under his breath to someone other than me. His face changed into a soft, pale expression, something shooting across his eyes; a memory I was too slow to catch and too naïve to understand. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Ryan shook his head and blinked back the memories pooling in his eyes. “I should probably get dressed. Ginger always takes a million pictures; can’t look like a bum in all of them.”

“Ryan-”

“I’ll be back.” He ignored my plea and snaked his hand out of my own, standing and going for the stairs. He marched up them without hesitance and left me on the couch, staring after him.

I wasn’t sure what I had seen; the quick flash of something familiar but unrecognizable in Ryan’s eyes. That spark of anger, but retraction and widening of fear. A vivid dream twisting into a nightmare you never have the chance of waking from. The surfacing of a memory you thought you had buried in the darkest corner of your past and turned your back on. The realization that nothing ever leaves you; you have to learn how to carry it.

As Ryan got ready upstairs, I dug through the bag we had brought from the apartment and found a mostly unwrinkled shirt and went into the power room beside the stairs to change. It was a shirt Ryan said he had gotten too big for. When he gave it to me, I had laughed at the thought. Ryan didn’t look like he was the kind of person to grow out of anything; he acted like he was born walking, talking, and cursing. He wasn’t a kid at any point. But maybe that was because as far as the memories he’d like to remember were concerned, he never was.

The button-down was black, but you could barely notice with the swirling pink floral pattern. The cuffs narrowed and hugged my wrists. The shirt was a tight fit on me, growing tight around where my hips jutted out against the slim track of my waist. I could see how it no longer fit Ryan; he definitely grew a few more inches in all directions to grow out of this particular cut.

I ran my hands under the faucet and used the water to flatten the tufts of hair that were uncooperative toward the hairstyle as a whole. I tried my best to ignore the roots that were growing in, showing Brendon’s brunet hair peaking up from his disguise. Part of me just wanted to dye it all back to a natural color, not have to keep a constant reminder of the fading effectiveness of this new body. But I also knew, thanks to Dallon, that was the worst idea to ever cross my mind.

I made sure my glasses were on straight, my shirt was flattened just so over my jeans, and my hair was presentable before stepping back out of the powder room. Ginger was going from the foyer to the kitchen, stack of envelopes in her hand, and stopped as she walked by.

“Well, it’s been quite a while since I have seen that shirt.” She reached over and flattened the collar of my shirt affectionately. “One of my favorites.”

“Wow, that is an old one.” Spencer added, stepping around the corner. “Where did you get that?”

“Ryan.” The answer was obvious, but I was sure they just wanted to hear me say it. “He said he grew out of it.”

“That’s very true.” Ginger nodded. “He was maybe _sixteen_ when I bought that.”

Ginger bought it for Ryan? Better yet, she remembers _when_ she bought it for him? She seemed to have every moment that Ryan’s life intersected with her own marked down and memorized. She remembered the things about Ryan I was sure he wanted to forget. I wasn’t sure if that made her a better parental figure or not. But with her sincerity and kindness, it could only mean good things. She could only be trying to help Ryan clear the fog creeping up behind him from years of terrible ghostly memories. Ginger hung pictures in the living room, baked cakes, encouraged education, and bought clothes for a boy that stumbled into her care fifteen years ago; there was no way anything she ever did came from a place of malice. Her and Spencer only wanted the best for Ryan, even if he didn’t.

“I didn’t even know Ryan still had that thing.”

“I heard my name.” Ryan called, his footsteps hurrying down the stairs to catch up with the conversation. “Care to share with the class, Spencer- _oh_. Wow. It fits you.” Ryan came to a stop beside me, his feet tripping over themselves as he tried not to run into me. He was still fastening the last button his own shirt, hair slowly springing up into curls as it dried. “I didn’t really expect it to.”

“You were so skinny when I bought that for you.” Ginger added.

“Well, it wasn’t an exact fit back then, Ginger.” Ryan laughed. “Bren is nothing like what I used to look like. He looks fine.” Ryan pushed the topic aside with the wave of his hand. His hand landed on my back momentarily before sliding down between my shoulders and dropping by his sides. “Don’t see a thing wrong with it.”

“Didn’t say I did either.” Ginger kept walking and left us with a suppressed smile. “Want to help me in the kitchen, Bren?”

“Uh, sure.” I nodded, looking at Ryan who was still slightly distracted by the shirt I was wearing. His eyes were traveling everywhere but up to my eyes. He mouthed ‘ _cute_ ’ to me before waving me in the direction of the kitchen.

“I just like a little company while I make the icing and wait for the cake to finish.” She added innocently, trying to wipe the confused expression off my face.

“Oh. Okay.” I ventured into the kitchen slowly, leaning against the counter by the phone.

Ginger had her back to me, reaching up and sorting through various bags of baking ingredients. Part of me wanted to offer help, but I was the shortest one in the house; I was useless for chivalry. I pretended I didn’t feel like I was in an interrogation room and continued smiling until Ginger finally turned around to see it.

“So, Bren. Talk to me.” She placed her bags of sugar and dish of butter on the counter before turning to face me. “How have you been liking Las Vegas?”

I stared at Ginger with an amused expression before I realized that I was only supposed to be a visitor to the town that was the background to my first memories. “It’s great. Lot of desert.” Making simple observations was the same as complimenting Las Vegas. Being a tourist didn’t take any convincing lying, I’d noticed.

“Not like that in Arizona?”

Fuck if I knew. “No. Little more trees. More mountains.” Dallon spoke once wistfully about driving up to Arizona and seeing a beautiful mountain range with someone… I barely remembered the story or the place.

“Oh, do you think you’ll stay in Las Vegas?” She said it without any underlying implications.

I shrugged. “I guess, yeah.” I mean, where else was I supposed to go? I had been hiding in Spencer and Ryan’s apartment for months, my identity covered up by clothes that no on associated with me and a hair color that put me out of everyone’s mind. I wasn’t sure what other options there were, even if I _wanted_ to leave. I could never leave the state. Las Vegas was all I knew. Brendon would always know Las Vegas, in any form. We’d die here. “I love it here.”

“Do you think you’ll be living with Spencer and Ryan for much longer?” _Oh_.

“Uh, I don’t know.” I sputtered. “I mean, I was planning on going back to school so, technically I wouldn’t be _living_ with them except during the holidays or you know, whatever…” My hands waved around as I spoke, trying to do more talking than I was. “Why?”

“Well, if I’m being honest,” A mother’s honesty scared me. I had seen enough of it to last me every life I thought I would lead. “I don’t know how I feel about Spencer and Ryan’s landlord; I was hoping that if you started to look at other apartments, maybe they would too.”

“Oh.” A weight in my chest dropped back down to my feet. “I understand that.”

“I worry about them. And now that I know you _and_ Ryan are living there, I am going to only be calling Spencer more.” She laughed at her own habits, wiping her palms on her apron. She wasn’t being modest; Ginger was going to be honest, opening her heart up to me- someone that was a stranger to her, but a close confidant of someone she considered her child. I was the older twenty-something that was living with her two sons, planning the rest of my life with a college degree. I was the one who could try and guide them where she couldn’t. I felt guilty that I had less pull than Ginger was entrusting in me. I wanted to do everything I could.

I wanted to help give back even a small percentage of what Spencer and Ryan gave me; my life. Spencer saved it and Ryan taught me how to take control of it. I promised Ginger that, if the opportunity came up, I would talk to Ryan about moving. I at least knew I had that ability. And by the look on Ginger’s face, she knew it too.

“As long as you look after my boys, I’ll be happy.” She said with a note of finality to the conversation. “All I want is Spencer to live up to all he’s worked for. And Ryan to see thirty.”

“I’ll do everything I can.” Even if it was just to be the one that Ryan smiled at, or the one that made him laugh, it was a duty I would never retire from. It was my life now. One I would never run away from- not that I knew how.

“Thank you.” She reached over and touched my arm gently. “It’s good to know the boys have someone like you around.” I wasn’t sure what positive identity Ginger was wrongfully assuming I possessed, but I didn’t have the heart to remove the smile from her face. I just nodded and smiled back.

I wasn’t sure which case of mother’s honest hurt me the worst; one that I knew I deserved, walking into the consequence like an open fire, or a case where I wasn’t the one being left vulnerable and teary eyed.

I just let Ginger continue her painful looking smile as she enlisted my help to pour confectioner’s sugar in a bowl as she mixed it skillfully with her other ‘secret ingredients’ that she had labeled and sitting on the counter. The help was innate; standing by a mother’s side and following her instructions to a recipe that had grown into a tradition was how I had spent most of my childhood. It hard to swallow, thinking about how all those memories with my own mother, all those lessons and afternoons spent picking up her life-saving tips, were now dead. How they were useless all because of a few mistakes I made. Everything was dust- and then I slammed the back door on my way out and blew it all away.

After Ginger had her icing started and whipped, she told me to go back to ‘the boys’. She said she wouldn’t keep me from them, not today. She kissed me on the cheek before I left, sending me back into the living room. I expected to find Spencer and Ryan sitting on the couch, but instead walked in to find the coffee table moved in front of the stairs and Spencer and Ryan lying on the floor, heads next to each other, but feet going in opposite directions. The record player that had been hidden under the TV was pulled out and placed on the floor, quiet music playing. I recognized the album cover propped up against the player as one we had in the apartment.

I had planned on just sitting on the couch and letting the two of them continue to lay there with the music, their eyes closed. As I passed Ryan, though, his eyes opened slowly, looking up at me with a loopy, still tired smile before waving me down beside him. Spencer still had his eyes closed as I knelt down and situated myself beside Ryan, his arm stretching out and going around my shoulders. I rested my head against Ryan’s chest and listened to the two voices that floated through our own living room continuing to search for America.

“Hey, Bren.” Ryan said softly, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “You ever seen the Atlantic Ocean?”

I opened my eyes and looked over at Ryan, who wasn’t looking. “I’ve never seen the _Pacific_ Ocean.”

“Would you ever be interested?”

“I- sure.” I agreed, settling my head against Ryan’s arm again, giving him a sign of my assurance. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan replied, taking a slow breath. “Part of me just wants to drive across the country.”

“Not in that car.” Spencer laughed. “You will get to the East border of Nevada before the entire engine just falls out the bottom.”

“I know. I know.” Ryan sighed. “Just a thought.”

I was sure Ryan had many of those ideas come and go, but it was the first he shared. It was weird to see Ryan as a dreamer in any capacity. As someone who would lie out and daydream about life experiences just in reach. Ryan didn’t seem like the kind of person that had dreams. It didn’t seem like he was allowed. He only had time to ponder the demons chasing him. Every thought had to be dedicated in planning his next step that would keep his head above water.

Ryan used to write poetry and dream of traveling the country, but now he was busy suppressing and hiding memories that reminded him of the life he used to dream of escaping from. He had escaped, but that didn’t mean his dreams had to be hidden as well.

“Hey, Ryan.” I said quietly, turning onto my side and placing a hand on his chest lightly. He hummed quietly, one eye cracking open to look at me. “I think that’s a really nice idea- finally leave Las Vegas.” Out of that apartment. Away from these ghosts.

“I’d never actually do it.” Ryan laughed, his chest sinking under my hand, like he was collapsing at the admission. I could feel the dream fading from his eyes. “I could never leave Las Vegas.”

“Why not?”

“I’m supposed to die here.”

“Ryan.” Spencer’s voice scared us both as he was suddenly sitting up and looking over at Ryan with a furrowed expression and wide eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a promise I made my dad.” Ryan said with another laugh, his eyes not opening and chin quivering as chuckled. “We both die in Las Vegas, hating each other. _Father-son bonding_.”

“Ryan, maybe let that joke go.” Spencer said, looking uncomfortably at Ryan’s nonchalant form sprawled out beside him. “I mean, that’s not funny.” He bit his lip and flexed his hands nervously. He took no notice to me obviously watching him begin to grow nervous

“Spencer hates it when I joke about death on my birthday.”

“It’s a horrible tradition.” Spencer said firmly, lowering himself back down next to Ryan. I had to agree. It was a morose tradition; keeping track of how far you have left instead of how far you’ve come. It seemed like Ryan had spent more than one day a year counting his days in either direction.

I splayed my hand out on Ryan’s chest, feeling around for his heartbeat. It thudded against my hand and seemed to lull me to sleep, every part of me relaxing as I felt the steady reminder that Ryan was alive and warm and quietly laughing at the way my fingertips grazed his chest shyly, but with a path. The record stopped as Ryan turned his head to look at me, the entire Earth freezing and suspending in time as his eyes found mine.

They were sad and empty. They weren’t sparkling or shining with mischief. They were leaking color down his cheeks. They were gray and drained, only a small glow, a playing film, lighting his eyes.  I was close enough to see the scenes playing across his eyes. I could see the pain and the vulnerability and present fear staring back at me. It was the most honest Ryan had ever been, and he never had to open his mouth. Only his eyes and his heart.

“I know.” I said, shimmying up farther and placing my head beside Ryan’s. He made no sound as he continued to cry for a reason I didn’t understand, going undetected as Spencer moved to change the record side. “It’s okay, Ryan.”

“It’s not.” Ryan muttered, looking guilty. “You don’t.”

“But that’s okay.” I smiled, sliding my hand up to hold the side of his face. “I don’t have to right now.”

He winced, his face trying to turn out of my grip to hide him embarrassment. I let him turn away and face Spencer’s vacant spot beside him. Spencer knew. He would only have to see the look on Ryan’s face and he would know the exact memory gorging his sides and world behind his eyes. But Spencer wasn’t looking. He was standing on the other side of the room, back to us both, oblivious to Ryan.

Ryan turned to face the ceiling again and closed his eyes.

“I’ll take you to the Atlantic Ocean.” I promised. I couldn’t drive, I had no car, but I had all intentions of walking him there if I had to. I was watching a dreamer die on a day he should be blossoming in his additional year of life. “We’ll go together. One day. Late birthday gift.”

Ryan’s lips curved into a weak smile and I knew he trusted me. We’d go. The two of us, uprooting ourselves once again with only our dreams to guide us. No one chasing us.

* * *

Ginger _insisted_ it was a fire hazard, but Spencer _insisted_ that we have Ryan’s birthday cake sit on the coffee table as we sang Happy Birthday; I was requested on the piano for accompaniment and couldn’t be two rooms away. Ryan was sitting on the couch, having been quiet throughout dinner and even now as Ginger fixed his hair and collar for the picture she wanted to take. His eyes were no longer empty, but I was still able to see the cracks where he tried to fill them in hurriedly. Spencer pretended he didn’t. Throughout dinner, he just stopped asking questions. For whatever reason, today was tainted with gloom and ghosts, and it seemed like everything was a waiting game, hoping it faded away, let the sun back in.

But now, there was a homemade cake in front of Ryan, celebrating his twenty-first year on the Earth, his family around him, and an in-tune melody guiding the three voices serenading him. I saw the real smile under the uncomfortable fake one pleasing Ginger’s picture.

“Happy birthday, Ryan!” Spencer repeated after the song had finished and Ryan leaned forward to blow out his seven candles- Ginger removed the other two-thirds to avoid catching her entire home on fire. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Spence.” Ryan let Spencer sit beside him and wrap an arm around him tightly. Spencer kissed his cheek and then hugged his head to his shoulder. I stayed on the piano bench, grinning at Ryan from across the coffee table.

“Happy birthday.” I mouthed, not talking over Ginger who was talking about Ryan getting the first slice- and the largest one out of all of us since he ‘needed it’. “Make a good wish?” Ryan rolled his eyes and when they returned to mine, they had a familiar shimmer.

“Here you go, Ryan.” Ginger held out a small ceramic plate that had an almost comically large piece of chocolate cake. Ryan stared at it before looking back at Ginger.

“You’re joking, right?” Ryan blinked at her. “You want me to gain muscle and be healthier, not send me into diabetic shock, Ginger.”

“Don’t argue with my methods. Just enjoy the cake.” Ginger laughed, holding out a fork with her other hand.

“I can’t eat all of this. I have to share it.” Ryan took the plate and fork from Ginger. “Bren, help me with this.”

“Oh no, he has to eat up too. Both of you boys are skin and _bones_.”

“I’d like to politely disagree.” Ryan said, continuing to wave me over and extending his fork out to me. “Because Bren _is_ going to split my cake with me, and there isn’t much else on the discussion.”

I smiled awkwardly at Ginger as I squeezed onto the couch on Ryan’s other side. Ryan balanced his plate on his knee as he used the side of his fork to cut a piece off. Ginger handed me my own fork and gave me a hidden smile for a moment as it passed between our hands. Ryan held the plate out to me, letting me cut off a corner of the piece. As we ate, Ryan kept the plate between us, his side glued to mine. Two magnets.

“I want to give my present first.” Spencer announced, placing his plate down on the table and standing quickly and hurrying to another part of the house.

“You don’t have to give me anything else, Spencer.” Ryan sighed, looking at him with kindness. “Being my friend for over a decade is quite enough.”

“Shut up and open it.” Spencer laughed, handing a small rectangular present wrapped in newspaper.

Ryan handed me the plate before flipping the present over and popping the taped sides on the top and bottom. He was delicate as he shed the paper, carefully pulling a book from the paper.

The book was brown with chipped gold embellishing around the edges and in the carving of the title into the cover. The corners were worn and there were coffee rings swirling all over the cover, hiding the leaf depictions sunken into the hardcover. The title sounded familiar, but I was sure it was on the list of books never allowed to cross our front step.

“ _Leaves of Grass_!” Ryan’s hand ran over the cover, searching for a memory with his fingertips. “Thank you, Spencer. I love this book.”

“I know.” Spencer said.

“This looks like the one I had when I lived with my dad.” Ryan said, his hands splaying over the cover, finding his nostalgia in the flaking gold coming off on his palm.

“It does.” Spencer nodded slowly. Ryan’s head lifted to look at Spencer, who was smiling coyly at him.

“ _No_.” Ryan gasped. He fumbled as he opened the book, thumbing through the pages. I couldn’t read any of the words, but I was able to catch spots of yellow, highlighted passages and crooked lines running up the sides of the pages. The book was littered with notes.

“Who wrote in that?” I asked, placing my hand out and stopping the blur of pages. 

“I did.” Ryan said, sounding out of breath. “This is my book- Spencer, where did you find this? I thought my dad pawned this for a pack of cigarettes?”

“He did.” Spencer nodded. “And I just happen to always be giving the owner of said pawn shop his high blood pressure medication every month.”

“How was it still there?” Ryan ran his fingers over the pages, dancing with the ghostly fingerprints left there. “It’s been _years_.”

“No one wants a Whitman book filled with annotations from some angry teenager.” Spencer laughed. “Other than the angry teenager himself.”

Ryan closed the book and held it to his chest, grinning brightly. “I love it, Spencer. Thank you.” He reached one arm out to embrace Spencer. “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday.” Spencer said again quietly. “Thanks for getting this far. Know it wasn’t easy.”

Spencer saw the dreamer in Ryan. How could I assume he hadn’t, that he had missed him? Spencer was the one who watched it grow and slip away as Ryan aged, as he slowly moved his life into Spencer’s. Spencer placed a hand on the back of Ryan’s head and held him tightly, rocking them back and forth slowly as I’m sure they squeezed each other half to death.

Ryan pulled away from Spencer and stared down at his book again, circling the stains and scrapes against the cover. “Fuck. I didn’t think I’d ever see this again.” He leaned back against my shoulder and shifted the book closer to me as well. “It’s my favorite collection of poems.”

“Is Whitman your favorite?” I asked, looking at the book carefully, like I was unprepared to see the history behind it. Like I could see too much if I didn’t tread carefully. “I-I don’t really know that much about him… But, is he?”

“Wanted to _be_ him. Some of his lines- _Fuck_.” Ryan laughed. “I mean, like a really flamboyant version of him blended with Elton John.” I had to admit that Ryan had let _all_ of his dreams go unachieved.

“Speaking of which- my turn!” Ginger stood from her seat, giddily walking into the dining room and emerging with a thin cylindrical package, wrapped with actual balloon covered wrapping paper. “I saw it one day when I was out with the girls and we just knew we had to get it for you.”

“Oh no.” Ryan laughed, taking it from Ginger. “Jackie and Crystal behind this? It can’t be good.”

“How do you not trust your sisters?” Ginger asked, sitting back down and resting her fiddling hands in her lap.

“Because I’ve known them practically since they were born. I _know_ them.” Ryan argued, placing the present horizontally across both of our laps. He pointed at the end resting on my lap, telling me to open it.

“It’s nothing terrible, Ryan.” Ginger insisted, watching the two of us begin to unravel the paper to reveal the cardboard tube underneath.

Ryan gave me a sideways glance as he tried to pry the plastic cap off one end. I didn’t know exactly what it meant, but I tried to understand the silent conversations he was now starting to have with me. I hoped I could pick it up quickly. Then maybe I could understand why he began laughing the minute he unraveled the poster.

It was a black and white photo of a man with one foot propped up on the piano he was playing. His suit looked metallic and had stripes of varying shades of gray, his shoes looking to be six inches high, and his circular sunglasses easily covered half of his face. He looked like a king in his own right. The glasses looked very familiar. I had definitely seen them before.

“Don’t you own those?” I asked, pointing at the man’s face.

“Yes. I do.” Ryan covered his mouth as he continued to laugh. “And he’s why.”

“Wait, is this-”

“Elton John.” Ryan shook his head, shoving Spencer’s side as he began laughing too. Ginger was grinning at them, proud of the outcome. “What is with the memory lane trip, guys? I haven’t seen _this_ in years either.”

“We saw it in that music shop in the mall. We just knew you’d like it.”

“My dad literally _burned_ this poster.” Ryan explained to me, holding it open at length again. “He took a match to it while it was still on my wall.”

“Oh my god.” I wasn’t sure why they were laughing.

“Didn’t change a damn thing though, I mean. Look at me- look at _him_.” Ryan chuckled. “Any kid that wanted to grow up to be just like Elton John was already as gay as he was ever going to get. And burning the poster wasn’t going to change that.”

My father never burned anything of mine. He never took a flame to any of my possessions in attempt to cleanse me of a sin he assumed was concentrated in a _poster_. Sure, my father kept me from things and limited the world that was offered to me, but he never took things from me. He could disapprove of my band t-shirts and interest outside of the church, but he would never take such harsh action. I mean, besides almost killing me, he was very hands-off. Literally. He was mostly a verbal scolder. He would tell you he was disappointed and always point a finger at you, but he never intervened. Even when he was suspicious of Marc, which he obviously was for far longer than I noticed, he never _stopped_ me from seeing him. He just gained enough anger from my defiance to act out in a plan that uncovered my lies. But he never _burned_ anything. But, somehow, Ryan sat beside me, laughing at the memory, like it was completely normal to have a flame be the only light in your childhood. Or to have your most favorite possession be compared to the worth of twenty rolls of tobacco.

I had a sinking feeling from Ryan’s baited trip back in time. This day was tainted with tears and hidden secrets, and they were making him laugh and glow in ways I had never seen. He had spent the morning and afternoon in shaken tears, crawling his way out of a valley of his past where every bad memory had pooled, waiting to drown him. He had spent his entire day covered in lies, and now he was painting over it with a smile. And they were encouraging it. They were having old flames call him, distract him, fluster him. They were allowing the two of us to get away with far too much without explanation. They were separating a traditional dual birthday party to focus solely on Ryan. And Ryan looked genuinely happy. He had no idea. All this was for some greater reason, and he was so busy trying to shake himself dry that he didn’t notice.

“I want to get a picture of this!” Ginger said, pointing at the near face-splitting smiles on Ryan and Spencer’s faces. I attempted to stand and get out of frame.

“No, no. You can stay.” Ryan placed a hand on my leg and looked confused by my exit. “Ginger, you don’t mind Bren in your photo album, right?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head and lifted her camera up. She counted and we all froze, leaning against each other, their laughter suspended for the short flash. “That is going to be such a beautiful picture. I will definitely hang that up.”

“You say that about every picture, Ginger.” Ryan pointed out. “You have enough as it is. You have a hoarding problem.”

“I think photographs are the only thing people can acceptably hoard.” Spencer countered. “I mean, they aren’t worthless pieces of paper. They have a purpose.”

“Yeah, to remember every bad haircut I gave myself.” Ryan muttered, beginning to roll up the poster and slide it back in the tube. “God, they were so awful.”

“Do you remember that one you had in eighth grade?” Spencer cried, suddenly bursting out into laughter.

“Oh _no_. We don’t remember that one.” Ryan shook his head and held a hand out to try and cover Spencer’s mouth. Spencer knew what he had started. “It was so _awful_.”

“It was endearing.” Ginger insisted, trying to defend Ryan.

“The back of my head was so uneven it took practically a whole year to grow long enough to even out.” Ryan argued, unamused by Spencer’s continuing laughter.

“I know where the pictures are!” Spencer said, blocking Ryan’s hand and sliding off the couch and taking off for the stairs.

“Oh, god.” Ryan sighed, covering his face. I could see redness creeping up his neck. “I look so ridiculous.”

“Did you _see_ my hair when we first met?” I muttered, bumping his shoulder. I cut my hair with crippling self-doubt and clippers I didn’t know how to use. Anything Ryan did was better than that.

Ryan continued to shake his head behind his hands as Spencer came bounding back down the steps, a shoebox in hand. He was already digging through it as he sat back down next to Ryan. There was an assortment of polaroid photos that led into larger, developed photos. Spencer had a stack of polaroid photos in his hands, shuffling through them before stopping and waving the picture above his head. Ryan reached up for the picture, hoping that Spencer would accidently shake the image right off the paper.

“Here it is, eighth grade picture day.” Spencer handed the picture directly to me.

I could tell which boy was Ryan immediately, he had the same round eyes and nose looking at the camera with a look of pure apathy. Spencer was beside him, a bright smile trying to lighten the photo. Ryan’s shoulders dropped under the arm wrapped around them, probably being forced into the picture after an embarrassing day at school. His hair was cut at sharp angles, none of it falling evenly across his face. His left side was longer than the other side, draping onto his cheek. Under the strands of hair, the pigment of the picture seemed to turn purple.

I didn’t realize it was a bruise until I handed the picture back to Spencer.

“It doesn’t look that bad.” I said, shrugging at Ryan.

“You don’t have to lie.” Ryan laughed.

“I mean, look at it.” Spencer added, staring at it himself. “He cut only _one side_.” I saw why, but maybe Spencer didn’t. Maybe that was a secret Ryan kept from Spencer all this time.

“What else do we have in here?” Ginger reached over to take a handful of pictures from Spencer. She sorted through them, careful to keep the order, smiling at nearly every picture. “Oh, look, first day of high school!”

“Oh _god_.” Ryan sighed, holding his hands up to block the picture from his view. “I was ugly and fourteen.”

“I think you just mean fourteen.” Spencer laughed, looking at the picture briefly before handing it over to me again.

Ryan was standing at the front door, dressed in high waisted bell bottom jeans and a thick brown leather belt with a round faded bronze buckle. His shirt was the same tan color as the accent color of his patterned pants that flared out far more than the pair he worn in present day. He wasn’t looking at the camera and had a hand in his hair and hip popped. The photo was completely candid, the look of soft attentiveness smoothing every wrinkle of worry I knew could appear on Ryan’s face. His lips were parted in the same way they did when he was listening, but didn’t want you to think he wasn’t going to answer you or offer his own advice. He looked beautiful and delicate. He looked rooted and focused. He must have been looking at Spencer.

“I don’t think this looks that bad.” I said off handedly. “It’s cute.” Ryan’s hands dropped and he looked like he wanted to glare at me.

“Really.” Spencer said, obviously amused. “That Ryan is like, eight years younger than you.”

“Don’t make it weird, Spencer.” Ryan took the picture from my hands and slid it back to Ginger, who had a queue of pictures in her fingers.

“What’s next?” Spencer asked, looking at Ryan with mischief covering his typically sweet smile.

“I have sixteenth birthday pictures!” Ginger sounded like she had been looking for them.

“No.” Ryan said shortly, shaking his head and holding a hand out to stop Ginger. “We aren’t going to look at those.”

“But, _look_ Bren’s got your shirt on!” Spencer peered at the photo and immediately grabbed it, holding it out to me.

“No.” Ryan’s one hand grabbed mine while the other pushed the photo away. “We are not.” Spencer looked at Ryan with confusion before going past his hand and holding the photo out to me anyway. “Spencer, come on, don’t-” He pushed against Spencer, trying to stop him, but his hands dropped the minute I grabbed the picture.

I couldn’t find Ryan as easily in this one. The photo was filled with four people: Jackie, Crystal, a clean shaving and slightly younger looking Spencer, and someone that _had_ to be Ryan- but only through process of elimination. The fourth person had on the same shirt as me, the fabric hanging off his body loosely. His eyes were dark and sunken into his pale and gaunt face. His hair was the longest I had seen it, hanging around his boney face, almost hiding the uncomfortable smile. He had his arm around Spencer, but his entire body was hunched forward, his shoulders caved forward and posture slanted. He looked frail and weak, like the minute after the photo was taken, he had to immediately sit down before his knees buckled under the effort of balancing himself. It was worrying to look at. And I had to pretend I didn’t notice.

But Ryan was too observant for that.

“Don’t say it.” Ryan said shortly, holding a hand out for the picture.

“I- I wasn’t.” I handed it back gently, my eyes unable to tear away from the face captured in it.

“We’re done showing sixteenth birthday pictures now, okay?” Ryan announced, the smile wiped from his face. “No more.”

“But-”

“No.” Ryan repeated, getting louder. “We will not.” His voice was sharp and I couldn’t help but retract from Ryan quickly, making sure no part of me was brushing against him. I had seen him yell at Spencer before, but the anger was different then; before, he was fighting for something, insisting in the protection of someone. But this time, he was fighting _against_ them. He was pushing against them like he was being smothered, craning his neck for every breath.

Those photos were suffocating him. And Ryan wouldn’t let me know why. He kept every secret close to his chest, out of reach and sight. He had let me see a flash of what he had following him earlier that afternoon, but then he refused. I could tell he was painting a still expression over his quivering lip.

“Ryan, are you okay?” I asked, accidentally admitting the cracks I could see growing in his stone expression.

“ _Fine_.” He snapped, standing quickly. He flexed his fingers as he walked towards the stairs. “I’m fine.” His lying was getting less convincing. His disguise was no good here; it was pulled off of him the minute he walked in the door. He thought he had been hiding behind it for the past twenty-four hours, but he had really just been standing before all of us, honest and afraid, scrambling to patchwork lies over himself. “I’ll be upstairs.”

“Ryan, wait!” Spencer called, standing and trying to get his attention as he trudged up the steps. “Don’t do this.”

Ryan answered Spencer by slamming his bedroom door. Ginger seemed to gasp at the sound, Spencer slumping in his seat.

“I’m… gonna go for a walk.” I muttered, standing slowly and awkwardly flattened my shirt fabric. The same shirt that could have swallowed Ryan up. I felt like I was swelling in the shirt, its sides clinging to me. There was no way this was the same shirt. The _same_ shirt. The one that looked like Ryan was just a gust of wind inside of it, nothing pressing against the fabric and giving it shape. I pulled on the sleeves and went for the door.

“Oh, okay.” Ginger said, trying to juggle her attention between me and Spencer. “Don’t leave the neighborhood, Bren. Please.”

“I won’t.” Any farther and I could practically walk home. And _that_ wasn’t something I was going to risk. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, be safe.” Ginger told me immediately. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

I walked out into the sticky summer evening, the sun still poking out behind the horizon and casting up glowing reds and oranges, the evening clouds following close behind and swallowing some of the light. I stepped down from the porch and walked around the cars parked in front of the house, heading for the cul-de-sac to loop me around the other side of the street. The houses were all generally the same: clean cut, simple colors, one car parked out front, no toys in the lawn. It was comforting to see the same houses as I continued walking. It took my mind off the hems I was tugging at mindlessly, hoping they would stop hugging my ribs.

There was no way Ryan couldn’t fit in this shirt. We weren’t that different in build. Ryan was the same as me except stretched out a few inches taller. He was just like me. He was healthy. He could stand on his own two feet. What happened to him that ripped the warm glow in his cheeks away to leave only the jutting bone behind? What ghostly memory was standing behind him, holding all his skin back and forcing his ribs to be the most prominent feature? Why did Spencer and Ryan disagree so deeply on looking at pictures of him looking in such a way? What secret had Ryan successfully kept to himself? With everything Ryan and Spencer shared, how is it that Spencer’s gap of knowledge was only _there_.

They had been best friends for almost all of their lives, purely on accident it seemed. They thought that they would continue to be together for the rest of their lives. They considered previous experiences something that wouldn’t fit under the label of a ‘boyfriend’. They moved in together the minute they could; one of them running, the other following close behind, arms out to catch him if he fell. Ryan and Spencer were the equilibrium at each stage in their lives, and Ryan had been able to tuck a secret so deep down into himself that with all his time with Spencer, he never saw it.

Ryan had it tucked into his core, unwilling to show another person. I couldn’t imagine having that much bottled up inside. Even I expelled it all within a matter of _hours_ of being compromised. Ryan just kept swallowing more lies and burying it farther down.

Ryan was far better at deception than I ever knew. My frustration and impatience with remaining in the dark faded quickly as I realized that I wasn’t the only one being kept out. He pushed Spencer and Ginger away, kept a protective wall up in front of me- and he _trusted_ me. I was someone Ryan considered trustworthy and my knowledge was _minimal_. Ryan still had his walls up from running. He hadn’t learned how to take them down. I hadn’t either, still working every day to remove one more brick left up by years living up my family’s roof, but Ryan left them up and began adding to them. Soon, he’d trap himself in and practically bury himself.

I had stopped walking in front of the only house in the neighborhood that didn’t fit in. It was the unsightly rancher that looked like someone had abandoned it after being drafted for Vietnam. The paneling was warping and losing its color from sun exposure, the grass was horribly out of control, and the window panes were dirty and caked with sand. I was curious how a house like that could be tolerated by those living in the neighborhood; they obviously had a standard. There seemed to be no lights on inside, and I felt comfortable enough to take a simple step onto the front lawn, my foot pressing down months of grown grass. There was a pile of newspapers by the mailbox and I was curious to see the last date of delivery. I leaned down and saw issues from March of this year circling the mailbox post. I was sure that had to be a mistake; the house looked far worse than a few months of disrepair. I reached down to shift the papers when pounding footsteps echoed down the street.

“ _Brendon!_ ” Ryan was rushing toward me, his eyes wide and arms reaching out for me. “Brendon, get away from there!”

“What?” I asked, lifting my foot and staggering back onto the sidewalk. “What’s wrong?” Ryan looked terrified and I couldn’t seem to find the danger.

“Get away!” Ryan reached me, his arms wrapping around me and pressing me against his heaving chest. “Don’t go near it.”

“What? It’s just a house.” I tried to pull away from Ryan, tried to see what was flashing before his eyes. “Ryan, what’s wrong?”

He stepped back from the sidewalk and brought us both onto the asphalt street, giving more distance between the three of us. Ryan kept walking, his body still rising and falling quickly, his breathing uneven and grip on my shoulders getting tighter the more I tried to move. We both stumbled over where the asphalt had split from the years of weathering.

“Ryan?” I asked, placing my hands on his chest, trying to move away. “ _Ryan_.”

“Shhh.” Ryan had his eyes closed, trying to steady the shaking hand that was resting on the back of my head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Ryan?” Spencer was walking toward us both, stride rushed but effort never surpassing a walk. Ginger followed close behind.

“We’re okay.” Ryan said. I let Ryan hold me, realizing it wasn’t me who was in need of the affection. “He’s okay.”

“What are you doing?” Spencer sounded confused as he stopped in the center of the street near us.

“Why don’t you come inside, Ryan?” Ginger’s tone was fearful, but didn’t match Ryan’s. I started to hold onto Ryan too.

“What did you think you were doing?” Ryan asked me, ignoring the two of them.

“I was just looking at the house.”

“Don’t you ever go near this house again.” He loosened his grip and let us take separate steps toward the Smith house. “Please. Just, stay away.” He stood beside me as he tried to gather his composure again.

“Okay. I- I won’t.” I promised, my hand bumping into Ryan’s. He grabbed it immediately.

“Ryan, he was safe.” Spencer spoke slowly. Ginger grabbed Spencer’s shoulder quickly, and even I wished he would stop talking.

“Don’t, Spencer.” Ginger was speaking through clenched teeth twisted into a smile.

“What?” Ryan was on my left side, Spencer sandwiching my right. I looked between them slowly, leaning back to try and see both at once- while also avoiding the carnage of whatever rumbling storm was forming in Ryan’s voice. “You’re joking, right?”

“No-  I didn’t mean.” Spencer sighed and recollected his thoughts, ignoring his mother’s pleas to _shut up_. My stomach twisted and Ryan’s fingers did the same in my hand. “The house is safe now.”

“ _Now_?” Ryan echoed. “What, did George move out?” Ryan was laughing, trying to mock Spencer’s idiocy, but Spencer remained forebodingly quiet. “ _Spencer_.”

“Nobody’s in that house, Ryan.”

We were almost to the front lawn when Ryan stopped walking, his grip yanking me backwards. I stumbled into his side, but he was rigid and staring at Spencer with a frozen expression.

“ _What_.”

“No one is in there, Ryan.”

“What- What do you mean? What do you mean he’s _not there_. My father doesn’t leave the house _ever_. He even stopped going to bars in favor of setting one up in our fucking kitchen- what do you _mean_ ‘no one’?” I expected Ryan to drop my hand in order to advance towards Spencer, ready to get into another heated argument with him, ready to engulf himself in those same flames, filling up with smoke. But Ryan squeezed it tighter, pressing his fingernails against the back of my hand.

“He left a few months ago…” Spencer replied. Ginger was standing behind him, hand covering her face. This was the bad news they had been preparing Ryan for, and I had a feeling none of their efforts were going to divert the consequences. I felt jittery and uneasy, like the electricity before a strike of lighting; it was going to touch down and scorch the earth beneath it. I was curious what the target would be.

“What do you mean _left_?” Ryan repeated. “What does that mean.”

“He’s been in the hospital.” Spencer said with no preamble. Even I wasn’t expecting it.

“What.” Ryan whispered, his face losing all color and grip loosening in my hand. “He’s been in the hospital for _months_ and you didn’t tell me!”

“Ryan, we’ve been trying to figure out _how_ to tell you.” Ginger added, trying to wave down the shake in Ryan’s voice.

“What’s wrong with him? What happened?” Ryan asked, looking between them quickly, eyes begging for information.

“Well, it happened this past March. They said that-”

“Oh.” Ryan suddenly didn’t need anything else. “St. Patrick’s Day. What did he do? Wrap his car around a tree? Get in a bar fight with someone not quite his size?”

“Oh, _Ryan_.” Ginger stepped forward to touch his shoulder. Ryan shoved her hand away, his face crumpling.

“No. Why that tone of voice? W-What happened?” Ryan shouted at Ginger in desperation. Ginger didn’t have to use her words. “No.”

“They are predicting he has until the end of the year. Maybe.”

“He literally drank himself to death?” Ryan laughed shortly, then again longer. He didn’t seem to know how to stop. He dropped my hand and used both to wrap around his waist, stepping away from me. “So that’s it? He just gets to die?”

“Ryan, please don’t do this.” Spencer followed him away from the house.

“He just gets to die. And get away with it, huh? He just gets to? And leave me?” Ryan’s voice began to crack and his stiff face began to crumble again. “He gets to go first, huh?”

“ _Ryan_.” Spencer reached his arms out to Ryan, but Ryan shoved him away; Spencer didn’t know this memory. This was a ghost he hadn’t encountered before.

“No. _Don’t_.” Ryan hissed, stepping back again. “That son of a bitch- he just thinks…” Ryan turned away from all of us and began walking toward his childhood home. We all took off after him, instinct without any clear reasoning.

Ryan walked up to the edge of the lawn, toes barely grazing the grass. Spencer stopped the moment Ryan did, reaching out and grabbing my arm to stop me from getting any closer. Ryan faced the house, body completely still except for the slow rising and falling of his shoulders and chest, like a tide that kept creeping closer. Spencer was watching with worried eyes, but I was waiting; he was going to pull something back out to sea with him. Ryan took slow steps backwards, continuing until he was off the sidewalk and shuffling across asphalt. He was still staring at the house. He didn’t ever seem to break eye contact with it, with the ghosts peeking out of the windows at him, even as he began crouching down, hand reaching for the ground. Spencer stepped forward slowly, arms open to catch Ryan as he seemed to sink to his knees. I stood back; Ryan’s eyes still hadn’t left the house. His hand reached the asphalt, not bracing his fall, but feeling around, hand closing around a piece of the cracked road that had crumbled from being driven over. Ryan stood back up and Spencer came to a dead stop, no words able to stop Ryan.

Ryan was screaming as he hurled the rock at the house, the sound raw and more like an animal than any word Ryan had buried inside of him; he wasn’t keeping it down anymore. This was what was bottled up. It was less like a storm and more like the splitting of the Earth down the middle; mountains crumbling, fires sweeping and scorching every living soul, no mercy toward anything in his path. The rock hit the front door and fell onto the doormat, minimal damage done. Ryan stared after it, ocean still rising in his chest.

“Ryan?” Spencer spoke quietly. It was the first time he sounded scared of Ryan.

“ _Why_.” Ryan screamed, turning to face Spencer, his face red and eyes overflowing with angry tears. “Why does he get to die?”

“Ryan, don’t think like that-”

“He’s get to die and get away with _everything_.” Ryan’s voice caught as he hiccupped, a hand flying to cover his mouth. “He gets to die and I have to keep living with what he did _every. day._ I don’t get to leave that behind, Spencer. I don’t get to.” Ryan reached down again and grabbed another piece of the street. “So _fuck him_.” The rock left Ryan’s hand before any of us could tell him to stop. It hit the paneling right above the window, all of us holding our breath as it nearly missed the glass.

“Ryan, stop! Please, honey. This isn’t helping you.” Ginger begged, for the first time looking unsure of what to say to calm Ryan down. He was erupting into flames, every bit of him burning up with injustice and unrest.

“You happy, George? You get to just fade away and leave your fucking mistake of a kid to clean up your mess.” Ryan shouted at the house, his face growing red and neck straining as his voice tried to knock it off its foundation. “All twenty-one years of it!” Ryan ran his hands through his hair and pulled on the hair by his temples. “ _Fuck you, George._ Why do you get to win? Why is it you? Why is it always you?”

People living in the neighboring houses began to peek through their curtains and step onto their front porches to see the old pitied neighborhood boy shrieking at an empty house, tears streaking down his face and hands clenched in shaking fists by his sides. None of them made a move to stop the scene unfolding in front of them; they folded their arms, covered their mouths, ushered their children back inside, and just watched.

“Ryan. Please stop. You are making this-”

“Am I embarrassing you?” Ryan whipped his head around and began laughing again, throwing his head back to chuckle at the open sky that he wished would just swallow him up. “Is this all too much to handle? Didn’t know how much I hate the man that abused me for almost my _entire life_.” His blunt honesty shook Spencer, causing his coaxing outstretched arms to fall to his side and mouth to clench shut even though I could tell it preferred to hang open like those of the others watching. “I hate that man more than anything in this world and what he did follows me every fucking day. I can’t do anything without him breathing down my neck all over again, watching my mistakes, using me as broken bottle target practice, mistaking my arm as the ash tray, rejecting me before I could even understand that I didn’t deserve it- _fuck_ , I’m another year older and I still don’t think I really get it.” Ryan was telling the entire neighborhood at that point, arms open like he was a show on display. Revealing the mystery that they all expected to be hiding inside the four walls of that house. “He’s going to get away with it. Get away with _everything_.” Ryan’s arms dropped and his knees buckled quickly, his entire body heaving as he gasped.

“Ryan!” Spencer caught him before he fell to the ground, easing him onto the street. Ryan pulled away from Spencer and pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m so sorry.” It was Spencer’s phrase when he didn’t know what else to offer. He rarely said it to Ryan; he always knew what was appropriate to say.

“I-I-I-I just can’t believe it.” Ryan hiccupped, covering his face and speaking into his palms. “This isn’t supposed to happen.” Ryan sounded gutted and betrayed. Everything he had done to get away from his father was suddenly obsolete; a few more years and Ryan could have just gotten everything handed down in a will. Ryan was always fueled by his enemy- but once you no longer live to prove them wrong, what do you live for? “This isn’t _fair_!” Ryan rested his head on his knees and put his arms over his head. He was shrinking before my very eyes.

“Ryan?” I was standing behind Ginger, but stepped around her and approached Ryan slowly. Spencer was watching me with wide eyes, like I was walking directly out into a rip current. I didn’t mind how far I was pulled out; I had already put stones in my pockets, committed to not coming back. “Why don’t you get off the street? Here, let me help you up-”

“What would you do if your dad died?” Ryan asked suddenly, not looking up at me. “What if suddenly, today, your dad just died?”

“I don’t know.” My relationship with my father was different than Ryan’s. I wouldn’t be sure what phases I would go through. I didn’t want to think I’d feel relief.

“Think about it.” Ryan slid his hand back to his neck and let his gaze lift to me. “Everything that is inside of you- everything that is swirling around in your chest and mind and stomach, everything that makes your knees weak and your hands shake, everything that you _hate_ sits inside you day after day, weighing you down and making you go less and less far each time you try to run away. Think about all of it. Everything you want to say to him that is bubbling inside you. Now imagine that’s where it’s going to stay. Until _you_ die.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” I crouched in front of Ryan, taking an approach Spencer hadn’t considered.

Ryan scoffed. “I can’t. I have to let him die with dignity.”

All he had done to Ryan, and he still was going to let the man die with dignity. He wasn’t going to sink to his level and unload all the turmoil poisoning his insides for the past decade onto him. Ryan was going to swallow his pride and his memories and just let it go. He wasn’t going to ask for justice or reconciliation. He let the tide pull back and retreat, the rolling waves crashing over him before flattening and barely touching the shore. The world was fused back together. The mountains reached higher. The fire flickered and extinguished in a billow of black smoke. Ryan had run away, but that was for his own benefit; speaking to his father would only revoke all he had accomplished. He wasn’t going to give in, but part of him was giving up.

I sat down next to him and placed my arm around his shoulders. There were no words to offer to Ryan. I rubbed his shoulders and sat quietly beside him, Spencer and Ginger watching Ryan lower his eyes again. He kept shaking his head as he looked at his knees. The tears weren’t surprising anymore. I let them fall down his face, draining the ocean to a mere puddle. The neighbors still watched us, confused but putting enough pieces together to slowly begin to turn away. The house continued to stand behind us, watching Ryan shatter one more time. And once more, Ryan was defenseless.

The man was on the brink of death, and still he continued to be that ghost lurking behind Ryan, hovering and monitoring is every move.

“I want to get up.” Ryan said slowly, lowering his legs and trying to push himself to his feet. “I want to go inside.”

“Okay- uh, let me-” I wrapped an arm around Ryan’s torso and slowly brought him to his feet. My fingers practically slotted between Ryan’s protruding ribs. I just kept my eyes focused on the Smith house and held onto Ryan as he shuffled back home.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Ryan spoke quietly to me, the hand on my shoulder loosening its grip. “My reactions are just so ugly-”

“Nothing is ugly if it has reason.” Not that I _knew_ any of those reasons.

“You don’t have to make excuses for me.” Ryan kept his head hanging low as we walked back into the house. “I’m sorry.”

Ryan’s apologies kept startling me; why would Ryan be apologizing? He wasn’t at fault for any of it- not the rage, not the sense of injustice, not for the years that built his walls up higher than any ladder trust could offer. It wasn’t him. Ryan was protecting himself and keeping me out, but that didn’t mean that he should apologize. It was a ridiculous concept to me; Ryan reacted to a traumatic event unfolding in front of his very eyes and he clams up with a short ‘sorry’.

Ridiculous until I noticed it was a reflex. He was still repairing his mistakes even years after breaking that last tie and moving away with Spencer. He was still ashamed of what he was running from.

“If you apologize that means you’ve done something wrong.” I said, easing him back onto the couch. “And you didn’t.”

“I threw a rock at a house- I should have just…” Ryan shook his head and covered his face as Spencer and Ginger came in the front door, circling back around Ryan again.

“Ryan? Can we please talk about this?” Ginger placed her hand on Ryan’s knee carefully. “Talk to us.”

“I don’t really have anything to say about it.” Ryan muttered, hands still over his face. “I just want to go to sleep, Mom.”

“Okay, Ryan. Okay.” She nodded and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I think we should all get some sleep. Start a new day. Start over.”

“As long as we don’t repeat this day.” I heard Spencer sigh, heading for the stairs.

Ryan’s twenty-first birthday and it was ending with his family running away and hiding from his incomprehensible distress on the second floor while he continued to huddle in the living room, crying into the same hands that held me tightly and told me I was always safe with him. They didn’t protect him. I didn’t think anyone could; Ryan was too strong have anyone fight his battles. Even when he lost, anyone else would have collapse far sooner.

I let my arm remain around Ryan’s shoulders as he shivered with sobs. He resisted my pull at first, sitting rigid and upright. Each time he exhaled, his entire body shrank another inch smaller, tipping him over into me. Ryan leaned into my side and finally lowered his hands, shining streaks following his fingers.

“Am I allowed to be mad?” Ryan asked me quietly. “Am I even _allowed_?”

“Of course you are.”

“The man who was half of the process that gave me life is _dying_ and all I can feel is _jealousy_.” Ryan closed his hands into tight fists and seemed to restrain himself from hitting his knees.

“Jealous?”

“Fuck, Brendon. Don’t make me spell it out for you.” Ryan sighed, placing a hand on his face again. “I am not proud of any of it.”

“I’m just trying to understand.” I objected, placing a hand over the one that was wedged between our sides. “That’s very hard with the information I’ve been given.” I admitted.

“I know. I know.” Ryan sighed, running his hand over his face and back through his hair. His fingers drummed under my own. “I-I know.” He slid his hand out from under mine and placed both of his in his lap, twirling his fingers and inching away from me.

“Ryan?” I just about could hear the commotion buzzing in Ryan’s head, the flashing images of the memories he was keeping to himself. “It’s okay.”

Ryan shook his head and stood and I thought I lost. I thought I had reached the top of some wall to have only reached a reinforced crack- the mistake of previous pioneers. He walked slowly towards the stairs, his hands gripped the banister and fingers scraping along the wood. I called after him quietly but he didn’t look back at me. I could feel Ryan shutting me out, our heartbeats skipping in alternate and opposing beats, our cores pulling away but not trying to pull back together.

He was leaving, but staying just as close. It wasn’t the first time. Being deceived and coaxed out of my protective walls was a pattern of mine I was yet to break. Maybe after Marc and Ryan, I’d finally learn my lesson. Keep it to myself for the next person who let me stay with them after this chapter closed. I tried to run with someone who had never stopped.

I tried to remember which way Ryan had driven to reach the house, which way was the opposite of home. The sun was almost completely gone and the sky was barely lit; if I escaped then, no one would even have to see me. I could disappear again. Brendon could disappear again-

“Brendon?” Ryan was at the top of the stairs again. “This… This is the best I can do.” Ryan slowly descended the stairs one step at a time, both feet resting on one before reaching down for the other. He didn’t grip the railing but rather leaned against it, his hand hanging over it. He was holding a composition notebook that not only looked like each page was crowded with words, but in between each page was an inserted extra page. I quickly turned and reached up to grab it before it slipped from his hand and spilled onto the floor.

“What is this?” I placed it down on the couch cushion next to me, trying to decode the scribbling on the cover of the book. It was a goodbye. It had to be. A collection of every word Ryan was preparing to say in the case of abandoning this life once and for all. “Ryan, what are you-”

“It’s my writing.” Ryan said quietly, walking himself back over to the couch. He sat back down beside me like he had no intention of leaving. Ryan settled into the chair and looked at the book with an uneasy expression, like it was a third party in the conversation. “Every single thing I’ve ever written is in here.”

“I thought Ginger had some.” Ryan’s first resistance toward sharing memories came in the form of stopping Ginger from showing his poetry.

“Ginger has the ones I wrote for school and contests…. The ones she has come from a different place than the ones here…”

“Oh.” I nodded. “Okay.” That different place was where Ryan tried to hide himself and his secrets. I just had no idea that who he was really hiding from was those closest to him.

My silence startled Ryan. “Would reading it be okay?” He was about to apologize again, about to seal up the widening crack in his façade. “I mean, we-”

“It would be fine.” I promised, folding my hands in my lap and letting Ryan be the one to cradle his ghosts and sort through the years he had expelled from his mind and tried to erase from his past.

“I feel like I should explain some things.” Ryan started, his fingers suddenly gripping around a page of paper. His voice began to shake as he tried to talk _to_ me rather than out loud with my ears happening to be in the room. “When I was fifteen… I ran away from home. For two weeks.” I nodded, keeping my expression blank but neutral. I remembered Spencer telling me about his disappearance. No one had a positive image of it. “And… Well… I-” Ryan’s hands waved around in small circles as he tried to locate his words and courage. “This kind of explains the _why_ , but… After I came back, I told Spencer I didn’t remember any of it.”

“But you do.”

“Every second.” Ryan sighed as I filled in the blank he was leaving out for me, relieved I was going to ease him through his speech. Every sentence was a surprise, but I wasn’t shocked by any of it. It was such a mystery the way I knew Ryan. There was gaps and holes and clues I was yet to discover but every time I did, I accepted it without question. “I don’t really tell Spencer this kind of stuff… I mean, I’m sure he’s not _stupid_ , but I don’t really like to give Spencer this burden.” He waved the paper shortly and laughed uncomfortably. “This, I wrote this a little bit before I ran. Uh, it explains why I left… And, well, why I’m… _jealous_.”

He extended a singular page to me, just a moment in his invisible history. The words on the page were handwritten and scribed quickly, like it was pouring onto the page and Ryan was writing in a frantic attempt to stop the flood. I looked at Ryan before looking to the page; his eyes were empty again. They were frozen with fear, every memory that had been torturing him and flashing persistently had stopped in time as he watched me hold every single one of them in my hands.

 

_Today I have seen death._

_I looked him in the eye and couldn’t turn away._

_There was no dark robe_

_No disguise of any kind,_

_He was out in plain sight._

_Lurking in the shadows I thought_

_I had finally filled with light._

_He followed my every step._

_I couldn’t separate my path from his_

_We were both going the same way;_

_Going to go out the same way._

_Today I have seen death._

_I looked him in the eyes_

_And then right between them._

_We ran into each other in my bedroom_

_One of us being chased_

_By curled fists and twisted lips._

_The door had slammed shut_

_And knocked him lose from the corner._

_He snaked after me_

_Feet slipping into my shoes_

_And carrying me to the bathroom._

_I stood at the sink._

_He was waiting in stout orange bottles_

_Just behind the mirror._

_Only an arm’s reach_

_A deep breath_

_A forced swallow_

_An hour away._

_It was the mirror that separated the two of us._

_I stood in front of it_

_And I looked him in the eye._

_Today I saw death_

_And recognized him._

_Recognized the aching in my bones_

_The twisting in my chest_

_And the pounding in my head_

_Wasn’t just exhaustion._

_It was death settling inside me,_

_Making a space that nothing_

_Could ever rightfully fill again._

_He was gutting me,_

_Hoping that I would_

_Let that growing void_

_Swallow me up_

_Just like the pills_

_Melting in my fist._

_Today I saw death,_

_Small_

_Weeping_

_Vulnerable_

_Boneless_

_Broken_

_And he still wouldn’t take me._

I stared at the page long after I had finished reading. All my words had vanished along with my breath as I gasped quietly.

“Please don’t keep staring at it.” Ryan requested shyly, only his words trying to lift my gaze; his hands stayed nervously in his lap.

“Sorry.” My eyes tore away and met Ryan’s again. “I just… Don’t have any words. So I keep reading yours.”

“Can’t imagine Spencer reading that, can you?” Ryan laughed, his face twisting into discomfort at the thought.

“I’m more concerned about the author than the audience.” I replied honestly, handing the poem back to Ryan. He curled his fingers around the memory again quickly, placing it back in the book. Smothering it again for another six years.

“Why? I’m not dead.” Ryan laughed again, cold and distant.

“That’s not the point, Ryan.”

“It is. To me. I’m not dead- and look what happened.” Ryan waved his hand out towards the door.

“Yes. Look what happened.” I held a hand up between the two of us.

His eyes dropped to stare at my hand, suddenly realizing what I was referencing. They flooded with color as he blinked, but so did his cheeks. “ _Shit_. I-I’m sorry.” He placed a hand on his forehead, his thumb and forefinger pinching his temples.

“Ryan, if you apologize one more time.”

“Nonono, I didn’t mean it like that…. I’ve been living in this cycle… I didn’t mean. Brendon. I-” Ryan dropped his hand and moved the notebook onto the coffee table, which was still covered in the skeletal remains of celebration. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He moved closer to me and I could feel his urgency slowing time around us. His eyes were bright and I could see every laugh, every smile, every moment we had together playing. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I get it.” I brushed back the hair hanging in his eyes, grazing a thumb over the fading scar on his temple. “There are just some things we always have to carry.”

“Those two weeks… I wanted more than anything to just fall asleep and never wake up… Just vanish in the cleanest way possible. Leave Spencer to become the academic scholar we all knew he could be, leave my father to be painted with the neglect he hid from the neighbors but let be displayed on me… And there is still a part of me that is angry that I walked home. I shrunk to half my size, was too weak to even cry, and I was _regretful_ that I walked home and let Ginger take me to the hospital. There is still a part of me that wants to punish myself, a part that followed me back home. A part that lives in that apartment, that lives here.” Ryan leaned into my hand and sighed slowly, his voice evening out. “But, _God_ , when you look at me like that I swear I can’t feel a single thing anymore.”

I knew exactly what he meant as we sat, the world blurring as we began to spin faster than it ever could. Our world only extended as far as we did, the rest just a background to the sparks of lightning and pounding thunder clashing between us. I didn’t even need to see Ryan to know that he was in this world with me, I just had to feel his heartbeat thud back against mine. And it was, reminding me that we were both there and _alive_ and holding onto each other like the world was trying to spin fast enough to tear us apart. But there was something else, a buzzing between us. In my skin, my ears, my chest. The two magnets that clacked together and were shaking as they fought to stay beside each other. The whole world, and even ourselves, trying to separate the paths that had somehow found their way to overlapping. Paths that were only meant to run parallel now depended on the other to guide them one step further.

“I’m so glad you ran from home.” Ryan chuckled, smiling at me as he reached up to run a hand through my messy, unevenly colored hair. “I’m so glad we ran into each other. 

“Me too.”

“And,” Ryan muttered, his lips lifting into a heavy smile, “I’m so glad I’m not dead.”

“Me too, Ryan.”


	3. Help, Heal, and Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. Enjoy!

We drove home from visiting Ginger the morning after Ryan’s birthday. Spencer had work to go back to and Ryan told me he didn’t want to be living across from his father’s literal ghost anymore. We packed everything up before we went to sleep the night before, and I quietly noted the crammed composition notebook that made it into the bag.

I didn’t say anything as Spencer carefully prodded Ryan during the drive home. Ryan wasn’t tense as he replied, seeing as though someone other than himself knew the truth. Lying blatantly somehow made it easier. You didn’t feel like you were isolating yourself, but rather protecting certain parts that were now in the safe care of someone else. It was deception; a map that lead people in the opposite direction.

“Are you okay, Ryan?” Spencer asked first. The car was silent since any attempt Ryan made to turn on the radio was halted by Spencer taking a deep breath, ready to start interrogating him.

“Great.” Ryan replied, rolling the window down and leaning his left arm on the door. “I feel fantastic.”

“Ryan.”

“I’m serious!” He smiled. “I feel fine.”

“Ryan, I don’t want you to think you can’t talk about this.” Ryan laughed in response, but I now knew why.

“I don’t have anything I want to say.” Ryan continued. “I am ready to go home and carry on with my life.”

Spencer looked at Ryan for a moment with hesitance before relaxing his shoulders and letting himself be convinced by Ryan. Spencer was relieved that Ryan was smiling and recovering, and Ryan was just pleased that Spencer didn’t have the need to look deeper in Ryan’s sudden acceptance of grief.

“Did you enjoy your birthday?” I asked, leaning up between the two seats and looking between them. “Feel old yet?" 

“You keep rubbing that in, don’t you?” Ryan rolled his eyes and tried to elbow me away from him.

“Don’t be a dick.” Spencer laughed, defending Ryan. “You’re _older_ than him.” Ryan’s nudging elbow jerked and flew back into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. For the second time. Truth be told I didn’t know how ‘old’ I was; I had no means of correcting Spencer.

“Yeah… But not by much.” I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror, rounded face and youthfully bright eyes facing the world. “I mean, only a few months. I was born in April.”

“Really?” Spencer turned to me, face crumpled and eyes wide. “Did we miss it?”

“No. No, you didn’t.” I shook my head and tried to ease Spencer away from the subject. My birthday was almost too identifiable. It was written on papers plastered all over town; Dallon had made sure of that. “It’s the first week of April.”

“Oh, okay.” Spencer nodded, everything seeming to fall into place for him. “I see now.”

“See what?” Ryan tried to sound smug, like Spencer was thinking too deeply, but I heard the concern. The worry.

“It all makes sense now.” Spencer repeated, as if Ryan should come to the same realization. “I was always kind of curious why he was at that _ridiculous_ bar in the first place- I mean, any place that hired Gabe has got to be sketchy- but I get it. Enjoying being twenty-one. Well, trying to enjoy before those gross guys were all over you.” Spencer still remembered our first meeting surprisingly well. Better than I did; I was out for the first _day_ we knew each other.

“Right… Because that’s where you met.” Ryan blinked and looked at Spencer, a question forming in his tone. “And then you just…. Brought him back to live with us.” Even though Ryan knew the story, he still hadn’t heard it from Spencer. Spencer never explained why he decided to carry my unconscious body half way across town- let alone _how_ he did it.

Spencer nodded shortly. “Yes.”

“Right.”

“Why are we asking so many questions?” I tried to twist the conversation into a joke. As if their curiosity about their sudden new roommate was not worth the time or effort it took to solve. “Carry on with our lives, remember?”

“Right. Right. College is behind us.” Spencer agreed, waving the thought away. “Well, ahead for you at least.”

“Let’s not pressure him.” Ryan responded quickly, holding a hand out to Spencer. “I mean, he’s got plenty of time to be a Mormon. No need to rush him.” Going to college, figuratively or not, meant our lives would have to change. There would have to be a new lie or a new direction for me- for both of us. Wherever my path went, Ryan’s did too. And steering away from them and going ‘away’ to college was not an option. But neither was ‘dropping out’; I had no ID or life of any kind to get a job. We had to keep pretending, keep hiding, keep lying until Spencer lost track of lies and time.

And until Dallon’s church stopped putting my face on every square inch of town.

“How is that kid _still_ missing?” Spencer noted, looking at the row of posters covering the side of a Goodwill. “He must be in a different country by now if we just _can’t_ find him.”

“He must have run far.” Ryan commented, trying to keep his eyes on the road. Both of our attention spans were being pulled by the passing face that somehow no longer belonged to be, but to the greater state of Nevada, being able to be pasted and printed everywhere.

I felt like I was being watched as we parked. There were no other eyes around besides God’s and my own, looking blankly outward from telephone poles and streetlamps.

“Just don’t look at them.” Ryan said quietly, putting his arm around my shoulders and ducking his head as we walked towards the apartment building. “Don’t dignify them with even a glance.”

“But what if avoiding them makes it worse?” I whispered, turning to face Ryan, but keeping my face hidden in his neck. “There are so many of them.”

Ryan bit his lip and looked around at the buildings across from the apartment building. “I know… I know.”

“Maybe… I should talk to Dallon?”

“What do you mean _talk_?” Ryan tried to keep his voice down as he stepped away from me to open the lobby door, Spencer clueless and trailing behind us. “Are you going to _tell-_ ”

“No! God, no.” I stepped inside and felt my shoulders relax and back straighten; far less eyes. “Maybe try and see what his angle is… Maybe get him to see yours.”

“ _Mine_?”

“You know, a successful and regretless runaway.” I supplied, pleased that Spencer was fiddling with the mailbox and too distracted to hear us. “Something I can _not_ be.”

“We can do that.” Ryan included himself in my plan without my asking. Where ever I went, he went too.

Ryan continued to nod his head in agreement as he crossed the lobby, hand finding mine in the process. The lobby was empty; no landlords or other tenants passing through to cast sideways glances at us. Except for maybe Spencer, who looked more confused than disgusted. Apparently, Ryan was going to let Spencer figure things out for himself. He was connecting imaginary dots as it was, I was sure he could do it in half the time if it wasn’t lies being thrown at him.

Ryan didn’t release my hand as he reached into his pocket to find the keys for the apartment. It felt as if we hadn’t really left, but it seemed like the entire world had changed since we were all together, standing in the foyer, checking our bag and making sure the lights were off one last time. We left such better memories than the ones we were bringing back.

“Welcome home.” Ryan swung the door open and the empty, dark apartment greeted us. I reached over and flipped on the lights, Ryan’s hand still gripped in my free hand. “God, I need a nap.”

“It’s eleven thirty.” Spencer noted with a chuckle.

“My father’s dying." 

“And I’m going to go take a shower before work.” Spencer said hurriedly, pointing at the bathroom and walking away from the conversation.

“That was cruel.” I muttered, picking up the bag Spencer left by the door and carrying it to the dining table.

“I know.” Ryan sighed, falling backwards onto the couch. “But I really do need that nap.”

“Why don’t you go to your room?” I asked, beginning to dig around in the bag, taking out clothes to put in the hamper for laundry day at the end of the week. Ryan had a night shift soon and liked to do our laundry then; I could stop by if the boss was out for the night.

“My room?” Ryan’s head poked up from the arm rest to look at me with raised eyebrows. “And where exactly would you say that is now?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I tucked our worn shirts under my arm as I walked over to the couch, on my way to the bedroom Spencer was leaving, towel and change of clothes in hand. “You live here, Ryan.” I echoed a past exchange between Ryan and I when I first moved in, but this time it was Ryan who seemed uncertain.

“I know that. I pay half the rent.” He propped himself up on his elbows and quirked an eyebrow at me. “I just mean, where do you suppose I sleep?”

“In your bed?” I rolled my eyes and walked away from him. Ryan let his head fall back, keeping his eyes on me. “Where else?”

“You don’t think me sleeping with Spencer is a little weird now?”

Now. Now that we had begun to consider each other boyfriends. Now that we were each other’s _first_ boyfriend. Now that we had spilled every secret and shared the things we held tightly against our cores. Now that we had stopped time together. Now that Ryan could, at any time, lean over and kiss me. Now that he could hold my hand and not need to guide me anywhere. Now that Ryan trusted me like no one in his life previously. Now that I could never leave Ryan or this life behind.

I was thankful I had stepped into the other room as Ryan said it, leaving my immediately expression hidden. I wasn’t sure what part would be weird. Ryan sharing a bed with Spencer, his childhood friend. Or Ryan sleeping in bed with _me_. There were so many things that came along with that other than just _sleep._ Our relationship was in a jumbled order; I trusted Ryan and we were practically one entity, but I’d never even really seen Ryan _shirtless_ and I’d kept myself quarantined the entire time living there. And I’ve only really shared a bed with one other person- and that was because we were both too tired to move and just fell asleep half on top of each other, Marc typically crushing my arm against my chest or nearly smothering me with his hair. I didn’t know how to _platonically_ share a bed, even though really, with Ryan it was anything but platonic. We stopped time, slowed the Earth, were a force of nature. But we were keeping it contained. We were too powerful to be untethered.

I took my time placing the clothes in the hamper, trying to even my expression as I reemerged from the hallway. Ryan still had his head back, hair falling onto the arm rest, eyes following me, and smile lighting up his face. I walked back to the table, still not sure of my next sentence.

“Well, I don’t know. Don’t you think it’d be weird if you slept anywhere else?” I kept myself out of the solution since Ryan hadn’t said it directly before. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of treading too boldly on the next step of a relationship. Too many times I toed the line that Marc insisted was a wall.

“I don’t think _weird_ is the right word.” Ryan sat up and stared at me, watching me nervously move the same shirt back and forth out of the bag. “I mean… What part is weird?” What he meant to ask was ‘ _where did I go wrong?_ ’

“Nothing. I just… I don’t know…” I stammered and I knew my attempt at subtly had failed.

“Do you want me to say it first?” Ryan asked, his tone softer and slightly relieved. “Is it the part where I could either sleep on the couch or with you.”

“Yes. That.”

“Well, you know, you _can_ say that.” Ryan leaned his arms on the back of the couch and watched me pass by again, his chin lowering to rest on his hands. “We _can_ talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” I was doing laps around the topic, not sure how to even begin to discuss it. I never even discussed it with Marc; I was going in blind. But at least I had Ryan to follow.

“About the fact that you won’t look at me while we talk about me being in the same bed as you while we _sleep_.” Ryan pointed out. I stopped in the hallway and twisted the shirt in my hands. He had gotten too good at this. We both did. “You _can_ talk about it. It’s not a _weird_ thing, Brendon.”

I turned slowly, facing Ryan who was still on the couch, but now twisting to kneel at the armrest, looking at me. “Can we… Can we _do_ that?”

“Do what?” Ryan cocked his head, trying to find the word I was attaching my hesitation to.

“Can we really just…” It seemed like we were skipping some major step, even though there was nothing left for us. “I- you should be sleeping. You drove a long time. And you didn’t sleep well the past few days. You should be sleeping.” I shook my head and kept walking back to the table. Ryan reached out and grabbed my wrist, putting pressure only for a moment, seeing if I would keep pulling or stop. When I stopped, he loosely tugged me back in front of him.

“I _also_ told you some things that I typically don’t let see the light of day.” Ryan argued, playing with my hands carefully. “So, I don’t intend to let you feel like you have to keep any secrets.”

“Make it a habit of sleeping with the guys you tell all your secrets to?” I smiled nervously and let Ryan fiddle with my hands, holding them close to himself.

“The contrary actually.” Ryan commented. “So, would you please tell me why you have that look on your face like the world is actually going to collapse in the next twenty seconds.”

“Oddly specific.” I laughed, but he was totally right.

“Did you forget I grew up with the most worrisome man on the planet?” Ryan smirked, holding my hands out and pulling me a step closer. “I notice things.” I turned my head to the side and tried to give more space between us. I was too embarrassed and nervous to be close to him. Ryan loosen his grip and gave me the opportunity to lean away. I stayed, my head still turned away but eyes searching for his. “What is it?”

“I’ve only slept with one other person.” I started, cringing at the implication. “I mean sharing a bed with- because we’re not- I mean, right _now_. Or at all. Well, no I don’t-”

“Brendon.” Ryan laughed, his head ducking to meet my eyes. “One sentence at a time.”

Which sentence did I say first? I only had the sexual experience of _one_ person, while Ryan had, from my knowledge, at least two. I was clueless to what I was doing before- who knew if it was even right. Marc wasn’t even gay. I was just something he wanted to have sex with. I had no idea what Ryan’s experience was, what his implications were with the two of us sharing a bed. Maybe it would be simple at first, just the two of us sharing a mattress. But we were sharing more than that; we’d start sharing warmth, space, kisses, dreams. But with Marc, it was just because we were exhausted, and when we woke up, we woke the other and immediately went our separate ways. This was meant to share an experience, a portion of our day lying next to the other talking, sleeping, touching… And all I knew was Marc’s hushed, hurried fumbling and abrupt wake-up calls. I didn’t know if I was able to share that experience with Ryan. With Ryan, it would be careful and together; we would shut out the world and be in our own space. With Marc, it was careless, our company meaning nothing to the other person other than being a facilitator to the end result we both so desperately wanted.

“I’m not ready for that.” I shook my head and twisted my hands further into Ryan’s. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Well, you _sleep_.” Ryan looked at me like I was blowing things out of proportion, his eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, what else-” He squeezed my hand back. “Oh.”

“Marc really… He uh, is my only _reference_.” The words felt like chalk in my mouth, making it run dry and tongue shrivel. Marc and I weren’t allowed to talk about what we did- we just did it. The confrontation with compromise and communication was a trek that I was pioneering every second I was with Ryan.

“Brendon, you know I’m not…” Ryan stopped to laugh, but mostly at himself. “I’m not talking about having sex with you. I _honestly_ just meant being in the same bed as you. Like, how Spence and I sleep.”

“I know.” I nodded, bringing our hands together and closer to my face. I distracted myself with the stretched skin over Ryan’s thin hands. “I just feel like everything is out of order.”

“There is no order. No path we have to take; whatever we want.”

“But… the way we talk and act… I had sex with Marc before he even knew my last name. Before he even _cared_ about me. And now, well. Things have changed.” I muttered. “I feel like because I know you as well as I do, that getting _closer…_ isn’t right.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Ryan leaned away from me and tried giving back the space that I didn’t know I had enjoyed sharing with him.

“No!” Being with Ryan felt natural- we were always holding hands or bumping shoulders or touching each other’s legs- but I’ve never known that kind of intimacy without it going somewhere. Without it having a _goal_.  Marc was always about the ending destination and never the time spent together to get there. I finally began to feel like I had been missing something this whole time.

“Okay. Then what do you mean?” Ryan was genuinely curious and concerned for my truth. “What doesn’t feel right?”

“I’ve never been close with someone I know well.” I admitted. “I’ve only been a convenience.” I’d only been thrown aside. I had no idea what it meant to have someone want to be with me and not have a time limit or a to-do list. This whole time, Ryan had been treating me differently, and I hadn’t noticed. I had just thought it was him treating me as a guest. But he was just treating me like an equal.

“Oh, Brendon.” Ryan sighed, shifting himself closer to the armrest, his hands pulling out of mine as he held his arms out, letting me step forward and hug him. “Don’t you believe that for a fucking minute.”

“But it’s all I know.” I murmured, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat was a comfort; the rhythm already familiar, filling me with a sense of stability.

“That’s okay.” Ryan rested his cheek on the top of my head as he sighed. “I can sleep on the couch. That’s not a big deal.”

“But-”

“I’ll sleep on the couch until we come to a different conclusion or find a better solution.” Ryan stated. “You’re more important than any conventional sleeping method." 

“You sure you don’t mind? I mean, why don’t I sleep on the couch-” I suggested, pulling away from Ryan to look at the two in the living room. “I mean, you pay the rent here.”

“And I get to choose where my lovely wanted fugitive gets to sleep.” Ryan smirked, placing a delicate hand around my chin. “And it’s in _his_ room. In _my_ apartment.”

“And I live here.” I added quietly, grinning.

“Exactly.” Ryan held my chin still as he leaned in and placed a light kiss on my lips. His intimacy had limitations that weren’t linked to shame. I already had fluttering in my stomach and tingling in my fingers.

“Now get some sleep.” I waved him back onto the couch. Ryan flopped backwards and placed his feet up on the armrest, his head settling on the pillows against the other. “Bother you again in an hour.”

“I’m eagerly awaiting it.” Ryan smiled at me before crossing his arms over his chest and shutting his eyes. 

I went back to unpacking our bag when Spencer came back out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair. He stopped outside the door, lifting the towel conspicuously to peak at us before lowering it. He was obviously taken aback by our distance. I could already hear Ryan’s breathing evening out and lulling in an almost ocean-sounding rhythm as he fell asleep, and I was almost done putting our lives back to the way it was when we left.

“Guess he really was tired, huh?” Spencer said, looking at Ryan with a fond smile. “Why doesn’t he sleep in the bed- that’s far more comfortable.” Spencer tapped Ryan’s feet that were sticking off the end of the couch lightly.

“I don’t know. He just kind of crashed.” I supplied, leaving our conversation for only us and the walls to remember. “Maybe he’s tired of you being so warm.”

“Yeah, but don’t forget, Ryan’s the one with cold feet.” Spencer smirked, poking my arm as he walked by. “Gotta get ready for that.” Spencer meant the most innocent of implications; you always anticipated a couple to get to that point. It was the natural progression of things for most people. We would get there. We would get there and we would both have a place in the equation. We would get there and forget about every moment that came before meeting the other.

Spencer went to the kitchen as I went to turn back towards Spencer’s room. I had Ryan’s presents in my hands, thinking of putting them just on the dresser awaiting better placement. Why would Ryan hang a poster in a room that he no longer considered his own? I pivoted and hesitated placing it on the coffee table, not sure if that would exile Ryan further into the center room of the house, or give Spencer any ideas. I decided to place it in my room instead. I put it on the dresser, the book and poster sitting parallel to each other, right beside the glasses cloth and case Ryan had gotten me so we didn’t have any recognizable moments without my glasses; had to make them last a long time.

I walked back out of my room, noting places to hang the poster, and sat on the other couch. I placed my feet up on the coffee table and removed my glasses, gripping them in my hand as I leaned my head back and settled into the cushions. My fatigue was mild and I could have kept cleaning, but there was time for that later. There was time for everything. I wasn’t planning on disappearing. I had time for an hour of contentment; it was about time.

The world had thrown the three of us through a horrible path of events that I wasn’t sure was going to have an end. I focused on Ryan’s slow breathing and felt the world begin to slow again, only our rising chests moving to speed. I closed my eyes and felt the apartment, with all its memories and far fewer ghosts, settle around me. Home. All I needed was Ryan beside me to realize it.

* * *

Spencer had already left for work when we were both woken up by a harsh, constant ringing.

“God, _fuck_ Alexander Graham Bell.” Ryan muttered, rolling over. “I _hate_ the telephone.”

“I’ll get it.” I said, fumbling with my glasses and trying not to trip over the coffee table. “I got it.”

“Tell them to fuck off.” Ryan grumbled, putting an arm over his face.

“I don’t think that’s a proper greeting- hello?” I said, picking up the receiver. “This is Bren.”

“Bren! Perfect, just the man I was looking for!”

“It’s Dallon.” I told Ryan, leaning away from the receiver.

“Fuck off, Dallon.” Ryan called.

“He doesn’t mean that.” I told Dallon, the line going silent.

“Yes, I do.” Ryan said far quieter, lulling back to sleep.

“What’s up, Dallon?” I continued, laughing off Ryan’s half-hearted insult. “We just came back from Spencer’s mom’s house.”

“Oh! How was that? Ryan’s birthday, right?” Dallon replied, sounding chipper as usual. I could imagine his perfect grin and kind eyes waiting for my response.

“Yup. Twenty-one.” I nodded, lifting my glasses and rubbing my eyes.

“Ah, creeping up on me.” Dallon’s careful laugh came through the other end of the phone. “And Spencer’s is soon too, right? The second?”

“Yup.” I repeated, fighting a yawn. I appreciated Dallon’s interest and small talk, but I also had no idea why he was calling; he typically called to set up a time when we would all see each other and _then_ talk. “What did you need, Dallon?”

“ _Oh_! I was curious if you wanted to come over for dinner this evening; a belated birthday celebration.” Dallon said pleasantly. We had been to Dallon’s house once before. Actually, passed by it. He had mailed us something once- a flyer from his church addressed to me about a mixer that was happening- and Ryan and I had remembered the street name as something we passed when we went taking the long roads around Spring Valley.

“Ryan.” I waited for him to grunt in response before continuing. “Dallon wants us to come over for dinner. Celebrate your birthday.”

“Spencer gets off work at six.” Ryan said, his voice gaining clarity as he sat up on the couch. “Take from that what you will.” He said to me quietly.

“We can be there around seven.” I replied to Dallon, returning the half-hearted thumbs up Ryan gave to me.

“That sounds great! I’m very excited for you to meet Breezy- she makes the _best_ vegetable lasagna.” Dallon replied cheerfully. “See you all at seven.” With expected brevity, he then hung up and I was left standing by the wall, phone in hand. Dallon seemed to know to hang up before I could respond.

“Hey, Ryan.” I said slowly, placing the phone back on the hook. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to recapture some of my couch comfort as I walked over to him. “Who’s Breezy?”

“ _Breezy_? What kind of fucking name is that?” He asked, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “I don’t think I know _anyone_ with a name like that.”

“Well, Dallon just mentioned us meeting someone named Breezy. I think she’s making us dinner?” I relayed, posing everything as a question, since I definitely didn’t have answers.

“I don’t remember her.” Ryan said after stopping to consider the name. “And Dallon mentioned her?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess he’s got a roommate?” Ryan guessed, shrugging.

“ _Dallon_. Having a _female_ roommate.” I repeated, clarifying his initial assumption. “Mormons don’t typically live with people of the opposite- well, any gender they are attracted to- until they are married.” I explained, knowing how strict the relationship expectations were, and also knowing enough about Dallon to know he would not disobey them.

“You think he follows that?” Ryan asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “The guy’s, like, almost thirty.”

“If Dallon thinks as highly of the church as we all saw,” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice as I referenced his television performance. “I’m sure he would never live with anyone he’s not married to…”

“Maybe it’s his sister.” Ryan suggested. I shrugged in return, clueless to the truth; Dallon was open but we just hadn’t happened to stumble into anything about him _specifically_. “Oh wait, does that mean we have a whole big religious family to meet tonight?” Ryan sighed and flopped back on the couch.

“I don’t know why you are complaining, you aren’t the one that has to pretend to be part of the religion that banished you.” I said, leaning over the couch to stare down at Ryan. “You just get to eat free food not cooked by a Smith; a clear conscience and a full stomach.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to be worrying about you all night,” He said quietly, propping himself up on his elbows to come closer to me. “So, I wouldn’t say I get to just have the _entire_ night off.” His smile became lopsided and I was about to roll my eyes and walk away when I noticed he was smirking. _God_.

“What makes you say you have to be worried about _me_?” I uncrossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the back of the couch.

“Come on.” Ryan laughed, sitting up closer. His voice was soft and hushed, keeping the conversation just between us, even though we were alone in the apartment, the rest of the rooms seemingly miles away. Just us, just then. “Who do you think is going to help you? _Spencer_? He can’t protect anyone.”

“Protect?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “And who says I need _protecting_ at a sweet Mormon family dinner. I resent that accusation.”

“I don’t know…” Ryan’s voice was quiet as he spoke in between short laughs. “Dallon’s a pretty scary guy.”

“Right. With all his kind manners and firm handshakes.” I leaned back slightly as I laughed. I could feel Ryan chasing me, his body being pulled forward as I pulled away. “I’m terrified.” Ryan’s playfully serious expression broke into an open mouth grin as he reached up and touched the side of my face. The touch startled me, my breath catching and eyes blinking quickly. “Absolutely shaken.”

“Me too.” Ryan’s voice dropped even softer and I practically had to strain to hear him. I leaned closer- and I supposed that was the point. “Dallon’s the only one that’s actively trying to take you away from me.”

Ryan wasn’t just worried about me sitting in the home of a practicing Mormon- something that still stung even though I had renounced the faith months before- he was worried about the power Dallon held over us both. He was the man who had everything we envied. Dallon never even had to run; he made the world trying to change him bend to his will and accept him. He had the privilege to look beyond the fear of a missing eighteen-year-old and think only of the family. His world was so pure and positive that he couldn’t imagine the ending being any different. Led by God to only help and heal. And capture.

“Well, he can’t.” I promised, grinning. “I’ve got Spencer to protect me.”

“Oh, fuck _off_.” Ryan playfully pushed me away and I stumbled back, my footing made worse from my laughter. I caught my balance by gripping the nearest dining chair. We both pretended my fingers didn’t sink into the worn blue fabric and kept smiling. “Ruining the moment.” Ryan rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, walking towards me with strong strides. We were both laughing, mine more _at_ Ryan then with him. Which he was _not_ having.

“Didn’t know we were having one.” It was the first time I was really poking Ryan’s buttons, and watching him try not to crack a smile as he glared at me was half the fun. I felt light, and like my laughter wasn’t an aversion to anything lurking behind me.

“Oh, _now_ you are going to mock me?” Ryan asked, reaching out to poke at my sides. I laughed and squirmed away, bumping into the table. “Huh? That’s it. Trying to be honest and god forbid _cute_ and you just laugh at me.” Ryan chuckled as I swatted his hands away from the parts of my side I had no idea were so prone to causing me to laugh.

Ryan continued to try and dodge my hands and poke at my sides, gripping and pinching them quickly before pulling away and avoiding my hand coming down to slap them. My sides were cramping from my constant laughter and my face was starting to feel sore from my wide smile, but we enjoyed the reasonless laughter; it felt good to have no real explanation for joy. We were happy together and that seemed to be reason enough.

Ryan slipped an arm around my waist from behind me and lifted me off the ground quickly, my legs going out, kicking out as I evened with his height. I made a startled but amused squeak as Ryan wrapped his other arm around me to continue to hold me up.

“Put me _down_.” I prodded at Ryan’s forearms with my fingers playfully. “ _Ryan_.” Ryan’s hands on my waist started to squeeze my ribs in pulses, tickling me. “ _Stop_!” I was gasping for breath, but didn’t fear that it’d never come back to me.

I kicked my feet out, as if I could jump free from the light grip Ryan had around my ribs. One foot bumped into dining table, which skidded two inches closer to the window, and the other hit a chair. My toes made solid contact with the side and as my foot went further out, so did the chair. It tipped over onto the floor and over our laughter you could barely hear the _thud_. But we both heard the misplaced _crack_ that echoed through the apartment. I looked down to see Ryan’s father’s armchair on its side. Ryan placed me back on my own two feet slowly as we both looked at it. I stepped out of Ryan’s grip, his arm slowly unraveling from my sides as I approached the chair. I grabbed the armrest farther from the ground and pulled, lifting the chair up but apparently leaving the other armrest on the ground in two different pieces.

“I’m so sorry.” I gasped, dropped the chair back on the ground to avoid having to stare at the broken pieces. “Ryan, I’m sorry.” I stood completely frozen beside it, our halted laughter causing a vacuum-like silence ringing in my ears and absorbing us both. I waited for Ryan to snap, waited to see the fire light in his eyes.

“It’s okay.” He muttered, waving me off. For a second, I thought that maybe he hadn’t seen the damage. “It’s just a chair.”

But it wasn’t. That chair was the embodiment of the power Ryan was trying to hold over his father, the last bit of his childhood he wanted to make right. That chair was the singular _weapon_ used against him and gave him a scar that Ryan seemed to still feel pain from. Ryan drank in the face of that chair. He avoided that chair. Ryan was scared of that chair. Scared of his father. I saw it in his eyes, I saw the way his entire body tensed and life exited through a short puff of air as Spencer told him the news. I watched him throw stones and trying to knock the house off its lot with every ounce of strength he had until he collapsed. It wasn’t just a chair. It just couldn’t be.

Then Ryan stepped up to it and drove his heel into the other armrest, cracking it off- and it became one.

“Not a big deal.” He said, shrugging.

“Ryan.” I didn’t know what other words to use, so I instead picked a choice tone.

“What?” He turned to me, eyes blinking at my shocked expression. His eyes were clear and bright, watching only me. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it; I’m not mad.”

“You just broke it _further_.” I pointed at the splintered wood but Ryan never looked away from my face.

“Yeah?” He nodded. “It’s garbage anyway.” The ‘it’ in question also involved the previous owner of the chair.

“Ryan, this isn’t the way to deal with-”

“Brendon, I don’t want to look at this chair again.” Ryan said firmly, his tone trying to pull itself away from harsh. “When he dies, I want his memory do the same.” Ryan just wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Ignorance would heal all wounds.

“Ryan-”

“Besides,” Ryan continued, placing an arm around my shoulders and smiling with a quickly quivering chin. “I have something far better to use my energy on. And it’s not a bunch of old ghosts that live in this damn chair. I have a scar; that’s enough memories.”

“But you _can’t-_ ”

“If him dying means that I _maybe_ don’t feel guilty about being happy with you and living with Spencer and getting help six years ago, then yes. I _can_.” Ryan placed a hand on the side of my head and pulled me in to kiss my temple. “That bastard wanted to kill me with this chair, but guess what. Guess who’s going first?” Ryan chuckled and rested his head against mine, staring at it. “Have fun in hell.”

“Until we both show up.” I added sarcastically, nudging Ryan softly. Ryan liked to diverge from talk about his father quickly, and I noticed that humor was his number one vehicle to do so; I could be observant too. “Us queers aren’t going to Heaven.”

“That’s right.” Ryan sighed, as if I had made a valid point. “Maybe Dallon will help us repent.” We both laughed at the possibility of Ryan’s joke not being based on any falsities.

“God bless his commitment.” I muttered, thinking of how persistent Dallon was on believing what was placed before him. The lies, the hate, the restrictions. “I don’t get how someone can live in that world for so long. And _not_ lose it a little bit. It can’t be easy for him.”

“I don’t think we have gotten the whole story with Dallon.” Ryan mused, sounding like he was joking, but also hinting at a note of suspicion. Dallon _did_ seem almost too perfect and well-off. Then again, that’s how you had to be if you wanted to blend in; I expected nothing else and saw nothing out of the ordinary. “But I guess we’ll figure it all out tonight.”

“And hopefully Dallon won’t.” I added, wrapping my arm around Ryan’s waist to lean into him further. It was the first time I really held onto Ryan- without having to help him walk anywhere- my hand pressing against the unexpected curve of his side. Ryan didn’t move my hand as I obviously felt a feature he liked to hide. I made sure my grip was light, not pressing my fingers into any flesh or wrinkling any fabric. “I’d like to stay in this life for just a _little_ longer.”

“You and me both, Brendon.” Ryan said quietly, kissing my head again. “You and me both.”

Ryan and I looked at the broken chair for another moment before Ryan stepped closer and began to gather the pieces- breaking a few more off in the process. The wood seemed to shatter like glass, weak and fragile under Ryan’s short jolts of pressure and force. Ryan was a weapon unto himself.

He gathered all the pieces into his arms, somewhat carefully to avoid splinters, before asking me to open the door for him; he was going to put it in the dumpster outside. I wanted to ask him if he wanted to save a part of it, anything to hold onto if he suddenly needed to take a step back from his current state of grief, but I knew that pointing out his sudden bravery and detachment was a phase wasn’t a bright idea and let him go. I opened the door and let him walk out, keeping it open knowing he’d come right back. Or at least, had faith he would.

I had barely started to search for a record to play, filling the new silence laying over the living room now that the chair had been evicted, when Ryan walked back in. He closed the door behind him with his foot as he barely stopped walking toward the bedroom formally known as his own. I pretended I didn’t hear him come in and continued to look at the records, trying to remember the name of the men who sang the record we had listened to while lying on Ginger’s floor. I figured they had better words to say than I did at that moment. I was merely waiting until Ryan said the ones on his mind, spilling the secrets he now didn’t have to hide. Hopefully he _would_ spill them.

He was in Spencer’s room for almost ten minutes before I began to worry, craning my neck to peer at the shut door. Ryan remerged from his room slowly, his head sticking out of the doorway.

“Hey, Brendon?”

“Yeah, Ryan?” I tried not to hold my breath, but something in me was anxious for Ryan’s next sentence. I kept my back to him and stared at the album cover I recognized, pretending I hadn’t seen it; I wanted to give him the privacy he needed while also lending my ear.

“Are most Mormon events _formal_.” Ryan wondered. “Because each time I see Dallon, he is always in like, fucking _business casual_.”

My sigh of relief came out as a soft chuckle.  “Not typically, no. It’s not black-tie, but I would dress nice.”

“Do I ever dress terribly?” Ryan argued, before retreating back into the bedroom.

“Are you ever humble?” I called, placing the record down and carefully placing the needle on the edge. I always placed it too far from the engraved rings, loving the anticipation with each spin for the needle to catch the divots and begin to play. I waited in silence for the music, before walking back to the couch to wait in silence for Ryan to come back out, hopefully with more to say. Or at least something more affirming than the sound of cracking wood and hasty decisions.

The record started with quiet applause and the skillful strumming of a guitar before one voice began to sing about his travels. He describes the visions and setup of a train station, waiting to go from one place to the other- to go home. His travel was organized and planned with a sense of relief. In my solitude, I allowed myself to feel jealous, but also imagine traveling the same way. Imagine my next adventure, but this time, far more well directed. I’d have a ticket with a destination printed across, finite and decided.

But that didn’t look very likely. I was almost a wanted fugitive; on the run from the people who didn’t necessarily want to put me in a jail cell, but stuff me into a small, unlivable way of life that I’d have to serve out until my dying day. And I couldn’t even imagine what would happen if the truth was revealed; if they somehow found out what I had been up to and who I had been with. It was an idea that had to be pushed away before I could even fully visualize it. I couldn’t allow myself to see me going _home_. It was dead on arrival; tossed aside with the Atlantic Ocean. Corked pulled up, and spiraling down the drain.

Part of me wondered how long Ryan had been thinking of going to the ocean, how many hours he spent imagining himself standing at the sea’s edge, toes in the water and arms outstretched as if at will he could take off. How many times it was the only vision that stopped the nightmares that lived on even as he opened his eyes. How much Ryan wanted it. How much Ryan was really trying to get back by letting his father go.

Ryan was a lot stronger than all of us. I never knew how, nor questioned it, but Ryan’s strength had beauty, and his beauty had ferocity and boldness. I couldn’t help but smile when he walked out of Spencer’s room again, buttoning his shirt, things somehow slowing again just for us. Letting us enjoy the odd rollercoaster that was leading us into a free meal at the strangest time with the highest risk.

“You looked at the shirt for longer than three seconds… What’s wrong with it?” Ryan asked, his thin fingers still fiddling with the button just below his sternum.

“It’s not entirely on your body yet.” I noted, laughing at Ryan’s sudden pang of almost tangible anxiety- and of all things it was over his shirt. “But it looks fine. Very nice.”

It was a grey cotton button up. His slacks were black, flaring mutely around his ankles, and his belt had a buckle that didn’t immediately distract your attention to his waist. He wasn’t dressed down in the sense he was unprofessional or messy looking, but it wasn’t as _bright_ as I knew he could be. Although Ryan made boring _very_ hard to look away from.

“Gotta make sure I look nice.”

“And why is that?” I asked, moving over as Ryan sat beside me and began cuffing his sleeves. He paused a moment and smiled at the record playing before turning back to me.

“Can’t I just look nice?” Ryan said coyly.

“You always do.” I rebutted. “But what’s different about today?” Ryan continued to look away with a grin on his lips. “What do you have planned?”

“Oh, me? _Nothing_.”

“Ryan.” I shoved his side lightly, his hands staying on his cuff as he sat upright again.

“Can’t a _boyfriend_ have a few surprises up his sleeve?” Ryan winked, promptly finishing the last cuff of his sleeve.

“You are going to tell Dallon that you will no longer be hitting on _him_ by hitting on me instead?” I asked, knowing the answer. “I like where this is going.”

Ryan put his feet up on the coffee table beside mine and continued to roll up his other sleeve. He winked at me and leaned to rest his shoulder against mine. Around us, the song was ending, quietly repeating the refrain that I never considered to resonate with the chorus. They were headed for home, but that didn’t mean a place. It was a person; _where my love lies waiting, silently for me_.

And then, suddenly, all that unprepared travel and hasty moving was worth it, and nearly as glorious. I had made it home.

* * *

“Please just _pick a shirt_.” Ryan sighed, standing by the front door. He had his hand on the doorknob, waiting for Spencer to come out of his room. “This is _dinner_ not an inauguration, Spencer.”

“I’m coming, calm down.” Spencer called back, sounding flustered.

“If I had a dollar every time a man told me to calm down…” Ryan said, rolling his eyes. “My childhood alone could pay for rent until I turn thirty.”

My response was only a grin and quiet laugh. I appreciated the joke and Ryan’s extension of time. He said ‘until’ rather than ‘if’. He was trying.

Spencer came walking out of the hallway swiftly, adjusting his collar. “I’m ready.”

“ _Finally_.” Ryan said, opening the door and leading us out into the hallway immediately.

I trailed behind Ryan as we took the stairs down to the lobby. Spencer a few steps behind me, having spent time locking the door behind us. Ryan kept a steady pace, his long legs taking him down the stairs far faster than I could keep up with. I let him get ahead of me, hearing his shoes hit the landing and stop, waiting for us. I rounded the corner and expected to meet him, facing us with a smile, but I took one last step off the stairs and ran into the back of him.

“What the fuck, Ryan?” I asked indignantly, rubbing my nose.

“Do you want to look?” Ryan said slowly, pivoting his shoulders and let me see past him and into the lobby.

“What-” I stepped around Ryan to stand further in the lobby. The walls were still the usual dirty looking beige color they were when I first arrived, but now I could see considerably less of it now that it was covered in white flyers. My face was on every single one of them. Mrs. Warwick had a stack tucked under her arm as a trail followed behind her along the walls.

“What are these for?” Ryan asked nonchalantly, stepping up beside her to read the paper but not needing the information.

She took a hasty step to the side, away from Ryan. “A church nearby gave these to me and said that if I hung them, I could help return a kidnapped boy.”

“Really?” Ryan mused, giving wide eyes to me.

“ _Dallon_.” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“Then I looked into it more and found _you_ are responsible.” The woman hissed, stepping further away from Ryan.

“W-What?” Ryan sputtered, his face paling. Spencer walked into the lobby and Ryan tried to gain the color back to avoid suspicion. “Me?”

“You. And all the other fags like you. _All of you_.” She spat at our feet and I felt my own get lodged in my throat. “Disgusting. Taking children for your own sick fantasies.”

“Didn’t know acceptance, safety, and love were _sick fantasies_.” Ryan said coldly, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the door. I stumbled after him, my feet cemented to the spot by the drying saliva on the toes of my shoes. Spencer grabbed my other hand and helped me keep even with Ryan.

“What did you say to her?” Spencer asked, dropping my hand but wrapping an arm around my shoulders. His tone was an attempt at neutrality.

“Nothing.” Ryan said innocently. “But I am going to say _quite_ a bit to Dallon when I see him.”

“You won’t.” Spencer argued, talking over my head. Literally. “We are his guests.”

“And I don’t want to look at the face of a kid that I know all too well what the hell he’s going through.” Ryan argued, his voice sharp. The fingernails digging into my hand were sharper. “When it’s dead, it’s dead. Let him go.”

“Ryan,” Spencer sounded like a speech was forming, his tone growing soft as he sighed. Before Spencer could speak again, I turned to look at him, both Ryan and mine’s eyes making him question his motives _one_ last time.  “you’re right.” He nodded shortly.

“As usual.”

Ryan unlocked the car and let me climb in behind the driver’s seat first, using the time Spencer spent getting into his own seat to look at me with apologetic eyes. He touched my knee before pushing his chair back into place and sitting down. I wiped the spit off my shoe and grinned into the rear-view mirror. We were all trying.

I wasn’t sure what to expect at dinner that evening, but the drive over made every ounce of my appetite go out the open windows. I was too nervous to eat; too nervous I’d throw up. Dallon had far more influence than we all thought to give him. Somehow his unwavering goodwill had reached us in our own home. He was trying to save me, and I didn’t want his outreach. I didn’t deserve it.

Ryan and Spencer discussed the way to get to Dallon’s house and I was able to use their collaborative squabble as time to collect my appearance and lies. How I would appear to a man who had everything, and wanted to take it all from the same boy he was inviting further into his own world, and submerging him in his second life. Giving me back to the church meant taking me from him too. I wouldn’t just be ripped from Ryan and Spencer’s arms; I would be protected from Dallon too. Dallon might have been the same faith, but my family was in no way as forgiving as Dallon’s particular church. Dallon stood an inch too close to any one man and they’d send him away and persecute him as part of the problem.

I was a threat to everyone. Even those trying to help.

My stomach twisted and my throat began to feel tight, air passing through easily, but a tangible block bobbing as I tried to swallow. My mouth felt dry and my fingers curled into fists involuntarily. I wasn’t just a mistake being pushed under a rug. I was a ticking time bomb; each step I took, each second that passed brought me closer to the moment when I would blow up in everyone’s face, destroying all the lives of those trying to cover me. Now it made sense why the world slowed when Ryan and I were together; it was trying to give us a half decent chance.

“Ryan.” I said quietly, my stomach churning in a way I didn’t recognize. “Ryan, can you pull over?” I asked, even though their chattering hadn’t stopped. Ryan made a somewhat unplanned turn onto a side street, and I thought my stomach had replaced my lungs. All I could taste was stomach acid. “Ryan.”

“What’s that, Bren?” Ryan asked, shifting his head back so his ear was closer to me. But I was pressed against the back of my own seat, entire body becoming heavy and unmovable.

“Can you pull over.”

“What?” Ryan slapped Spencer’s arm and thumbed over his shoulder. Spencer turned to look for him. “Why?”

“I don’t feel good.” My lips were dry and barely lifted to let the words slip out.

“He looks really pale, Ryan.” Spencer said, looking up at Ryan with an expression I was too shaken to read.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, his voice getting louder; his panic getting stronger. “We’re almost to Dallon’s house.”

“I don’t feel good.” I repeated. My mouth tasted dark, heavy, and stale. “Ryan.”

“Spencer, what’s happening to him?” Ryan asked, looking back and forth out either window of the car. I could see the houses passing us at a far faster speed than they were. I could barely notice any detail. Everything was a blur.

“Bren, what’s wrong?” Spencer reached over and touched my knee, shaking it lightly. “Are you getting motion sick?”

That couldn’t be it. I drove in a car all the time. I had been in a car with my sister when she was learning to drive; my father who drove with a strange, jolting precision; and a car that almost crashed because I was indecently distracting the driver. I didn’t think this was motion sickness.

“Okay, okay, here we are. This is Dallon’s house.” Ryan stopped the car and my head seemed to rock back and forth with the halting inertia, but I never moved. “Spencer, you go tell Dallon we’ll be right there.”

“On it.” Spencer got out of the car without another word, taking off for the house that was far out of my vision. Ryan got out soon after and pulled the driver’s seat forward, the fresh air coming in from the open door hitting me quickly; for a moment, I thought I had stopped breathing.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked quickly, looking at me with worried eyes. “Brendon, what’s wrong?” He grabbed my hand in both of his own. My sloshing headache slowed. Everything was slowing again.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” I muttered, trying to pull my hand from his own. Trying to stop playing with time. With the inevitable.

“Okay, okay, uh-” He stepped back and tried to coax me out of the car and into the sunshine. “It’s okay.”

“I can’t move.” My legs were heavy and my lungs had turned to stone, weighing my chest down against the seat. “Ryan. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“What’s going on?” Ryan asked again, unsure of himself as well as my fear. “What happened?”

“I can’t go in there.” Dallon could either stop the clock or press the detonator before my time truly was up. “I can’t.”

“It won’t be that bad.” Ryan soothed, reaching in the car to try and sit me up. “I’m here. Spencer’s here. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“But I’m the one that could hurt you.” I retorted, my breath heavy and toxic. “I could ruin everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked, stopping and looking at me with a pained expression. “Brendon?”

“If they find me. You are all going to get in trouble. Dallon, Spencer, _you_. I can’t. I can’t do that. I don’t want to blow up and ruin everything. I’m a threat. I’m- I’m- I’m-” My words turned to gasps as my chest heaved in a rhythm I had no control over.

“Okay, okay. Now you’re hyperventilating. Okay, okay.” Ryan muttered to himself, trying to grab my arm while slipping one of his own around my waist. I was dead weight as Ryan slipped me from the backseat onto the cement driveway we were parked on. Ryan sat me down by the back tire and let my legs stretch out in front of me. He crouched beside me, his hands squeezing mine. “You’re okay."

“But- But-”

“You are not going to hurt _anyone_. Any future you face is one we all want to face with you.” Ryan said, his slow breathing exaggerated, trying to get me to do the same. “I am not going anywhere.”

“If… f-find me… y-you are… b-blame.” I attempted, my words slipping through fingers.

“Brendon, they aren’t going to find you.” Ryan repeated. “But if they do, I am not going to let them hurt you. Or me. Or Spencer. Or Dallon. Or anyone else that cares about you in _this_ life. Do you hear me? You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of all of it.” He sat down and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. “I’ll take care of you.” I could see Ryan touching my hand but I could only feel it in waves, hot flashes warming my frozen hands.

“Drag y-you all… d-down.” My breathing was still erratic and my words refused to stay strung together as I tried to explain to Ryan why he absolutely couldn’t let me do this to him. Let me become a part of his world anymore.

“Brendon, you aren’t some burden that we are lugging around.” Ryan promised, reaching up and rubbing the sides of my arms. I hadn’t noticed I couldn’t feel them until Ryan’s touch woke them up, my muscles jolting and tensing shortly. “We are so happy to have you be a part of our lives. God, _I_ am so happy to have you be in mine and give me the chance to be a part of yours.”

“R-Ry,”

“You aren’t going to _blow up_. You can do this. It’s just dinner, okay? You can do dinner. You know how to do this- you _just_ did it with Ginger. I know you can do it again.” Ryan assured me, smiling. “Right?”

“R-Right.” I nodded.

“But, before dinner, how about breathing?” Ryan said, fixing his posture so he was sitting up straight. “Just in… really slow… you can do it.”

I followed Ryan’s example and took a slow breath in until I felt my chest swell and my vision began to spot. Ryan motioned for me to exhale, and as I did, every part of me suddenly felt empty. My body rang with exhausted nerves and twisting muscles as we breathed in and out again. In and out, in and out, in and out. Ryan sat with me, continue the cycle until I no longer had to control my speed and keep it from running away from me. I leaned against the car, mouth still dry, but throat slowly opening and releasing me.

“Better now?”

“Yeah.” I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face.

“Okay, give yourself a minute to gather yourself.” Ryan turned to look at Dallon’s front door, distracting himself and giving me a moment of privacy.

I could handle dinner. It was all about Ryan and his recent birthday. It was going to be lighthearted and fun. Just a bunch of new friends sharing a moment with one another. A patchwork of friends who stitching was a lying, manipulative, scared, but beautifully _happy_ teenager. It was just dinner. I couldn’t ruin anything. Ryan was going to be there. Ryan was always going to be there. We promised each other.

“I’m ready.” I sighed and began to stand slowly, brushing myself off and straightening my shirt. Ryan was on his own feet with his arms out to catch me before I could even get a knee on the ground.

“Okay? Ready?” Ryan waited for me to nod with affirmation before holding a hand out to me. I took it and let him walk me through the small garden surrounding the path that lead to the front door. Ryan held our hands by his side tightly, letting me grip it as nervously- and probably painfully- as I needed.

We didn’t even need to knock before the stained-glass door was opening. Ryan and I looked away from each other to see a tall, pale, dark-brunette woman standing in its frame. She had tight jeans that hugged her legs all the way down to her ankles. It was a complete outline. I kept my eyes up and took notice to her blouse that came up above her belly bottom, the shoulders cut out and showing her broad shoulders. The pattern was busy, small dots and lines and flowers, but of all muted earthly colors. Her dark tousled curls hung down past her shoulders, bringing our attention back to the strong collar bone showing behind her thin string collar. She was strikingly beautiful, her eyes large and shining as she looked at us. I felt only warmth from her. I felt safe. I could do this.

“You must be Ryan and Bren! Please, come in!” She waved us in and took a step back to let us walk in. Her heels clacked against the hard wood floor, filling the house with her comfortingly strong and powerful presence. Who was she again? “Dallon, they’re here!”

“Oh, great! Gentlemen, hi! Is everything okay?” He looked at me, noting my still recuperating complexion.

“Fine, just a little motion sick.” I waved it off with my free hand. Dallon’s eyes fell to my other one clutching Ryan’s.

“Glad you feel better. We would have missed you.” Dallon clapped me on the shoulder, smiling at me as if I wasn’t the boy he was praying God would find. “Although,” He turned to Spencer. “Now we’ve made Spencer the awkward third party for the evening."

“I don’t mind. I live with them all the time. Don’t get comfortable around couples.” Spencer laughed, shaking his head at Dallon. Apparently, he was a lot more on it than we assumed he would be. All his well-timed absences weren’t as accidental as we all thought. In fact, Spencer was a lot more observant and attentive than we all gave him credit for, he just liked to play the fool. _Noted_.

“But now you are the only single man this evening.” Dallon apologized. “Wish I had known, I would have asked you to bring someone.”

“Linda had to work late anyway-”

“Wait.” Ryan waved his hand out and stopped Spencer, who silenced graciously. “ _Only_ single man?”

“Yes.” Dallon grinned. Heels clicked back in from the room behind Spencer and Breezy joined the conversation. “I didn’t introduce you yet; Gentlemen, this is Breezy. My girlfriend.”

“She’s your girlfriend?” I asked, looking at her again, but trying to disguise the shock on my face.

“Over a year.” Dallon held an arm out to her and she stepped over to slip under it, kissing him on the cheek. He turned to return the favor.

They radiated joy. They had it all, and no church was trying to take that away from Dallon. I hoped he was happy and had no one breathing down his neck. I knew the annoying (non)privilege that came with being with one kind of person over the other. Sure, I never dated them long term- Audrey and I were a flash of time in the longer span of our lives- but my parents and siblings always spoke about my _next_ girlfriend after we broke up. Even though I spent every moment with Marc. They let me be when I was straight. And the moment I wasn’t, I was the stranger that they wanted to exorcise from their home. They looked happy, and I knew that Dallon had made a choice; he still had both. He still had everything.

“Congratulations, man.” Spencer said, clapping his hands together.

“That’s amazing.” I agreed.

“I like to think so too.” Breezy leaned into Dallon’s side and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her hands rested on Dallon’s ribs, away from his _actual_ waist. She kissed his cheek again before saying, “I should go get dinner out of the oven; it should be ready.”

Breezy walked out of the room and Dallon motioned for us to follow, moving us into the small dining room ahead of us. The room had a table against the left wall, chairs surrounding it on all four sides. The right wall was covered by dish cabinets, decorative cups and glasses on shelves, and one very small crucifix. The room was small and cozy, the far wall consumed by a large window letting in the setting sun’s glow. Dallon placed plates down on the table and motioned for us to all sit down. There was already a plate at the chair closest to the window, presumably Dallon’s, and Ryan sat to the right of it, against the wall with me at his side. Spencer left the other head of the table open and sat at the farthest chair on the side opposite to us, leaving Breezy the seat beside Dallon.

“This room is really nice.” I noted to Ryan quietly, looking at all the décor and even the crème colored paint underneath. “Very homey.”

“Did you have a plate room at your old house?” Ryan inquired.

“We did.” I laughing at the ridiculousness of the apparently universal concept.

“Dad did too.” Ryan told me, nodding with a nostalgic grin. “They are all broken now of course, but we had one too at some point in time.”

“Dallon’s whole house reminds me of home.” Spencer added, looking around with a growing smile. “Not sure what the quality is.” I was _sure_ I had described this exact room at some point to Spencer when telling him what my house looked like in some lie-filled fantasy.

“He keeps a nice house.” I shrugged. I had the strange thought that maybe all homes looked the same once you had a particular type of world view. I was curious when our apartment would start to look as photo ready and, well, _religious_ as Dallon’s.

“You mean _they_.” Spencer corrected, pointing through the archway in the corner of the room, off to his right, that presumably lead to the kitchen. I could hear Dallon’s charming laugh from the table.

“No. Him.” I restated. “This is _his_ house.”

“But, Breezy also-”

“Breezy doesn’t live here.” I assured Spencer shaking my head. Ryan seemed surprised by my certainty before stopping to consider what parts Dallon and I had in common. “Dallon wouldn’t live with a woman before he was married. And he introduced Breezy as his girlfriend. That means something.”

“How can you know that?” Spencer asked. I felt slightly offended. Not because Spencer was questioning a _real_ Mormon, but to his knowledge, I nearly had a college degree in the subject; I was the in-house expert.

“I guess I’m the only one who noticed they don’t kiss each other on the lips.” I stated, letting Spencer consider the thought. “If he’s not kissing her, he’s not living with her.” The math was pretty simple.

“Is it always _that_ strict?” Ryan seemed to be asking from a different place than Spencer was.

“Depends on how strict you want to be. But I’m assuming that if Dallon wants to keep the church happy he follows all of them.” My voice dropped as I heard Breezy’s heels coming closer again. It was horrible to be gossiping about a man in his own home, but I wanted to do my best to not have Dallon receive any uneducated questions. I was sure the entire neighborhood _wasn’t_ Mormon as well; running into a neighborhood at the mailbox was probably enough to get the corners of Dallon’s mouth to frown. Outsider questions sometimes wanted answers that weren’t just ‘we just do’. Marc never accepted those answers from me.

“Hope everyone is hungry.” Breezy cheered, placing a dish of her vegetable lasagna in the middle of the table.

“Looks delicious.” Ryan told her, smiling as she sat down across from him.

“Breezy is a great cook.” Dallon added in from the other room. “Really… incredible.” Dallon trailed off as he sounded mildly _frustrated_. Bottles clanked and Breezy continued smiling, namely at Ryan.

“It’s the white label, honey.” Breezy called, not having to crane her neck to see into the kitchen.

“Thank you!” Dallon replied a moment later. Dallon returned to the dining room with a bottle of wine in his hands. “I don’t typically have alcohol in the house, but, Ryan, Breezy _did_ get you a bottle since you just celebrated your twenty-first.”

“Oh.” Ryan said flatly his face awkwardly lifting into a smile. “That’s great. Thank you.” Ryan reached out to meet Dallon’s outstretched hand. His fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle slowly; he could have choked it.

“Do you want a glass?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay.”

“Oh, come on! Have a little!” Breezy encouraged. “I remember my favorite part of my twenty-first birthday was the first legal sip of wine. It’s not as sweet- less victory- but definitely worth it.”

“I’m really not a dinner drinker.” Ryan said shaking his head. “More of a… uh, special occasion kind of guy.”

“And what is more of an occasion than your birthday!” Breezy rebutted playfully. “ _C’mon_.”

“We’ll all have some.” Spencer offered, trying to defuse the tension no one else seemed to notice building.

“Great idea!” Dallon agreed, walking over to a cabinet and grabbing four wine glasses. He placed one in front of Spencer, Ryan, and Breezy. He had one left that he held out to me, silently asking if I drank. I shook my head as if I was declining for religious reasons, instead of the previous experience of one horribly drunken New Year’s with Marc haunting that bottle. I still wasn’t ready to taste wine again without being reminded of vomit.

Dallon handed the corkscrew to Ryan, letting him open the bottle and pour wine into the glasses. He started with his own, pouring less than a sip into it. Breezy encouraged him until he had a quarter-glass. He did the same for the other two glasses before placing the bottle on the table between him and Dallon; two people that wouldn’t pick it up while it was open in any other circumstance.

As if on instinct, the minute Ryan placed the bottle down, my hands went onto the table. I grabbed Ryan’s with my left and my right reached over to grab Spencer’s. Dallon wasn’t going to not thank God for the meal made by the gift sent to him by the Man himself. Especially not if there was another Mormon at the table.

“Bren, would you like to do the honors?” Why was it always _me_? Why was it that the part of Brendon that I was trying to avoid _everyday_ was somehow the only thing people seemed to ask of me? Even if it was on accident or by my own misdoing and lies, I couldn’t escape it. I was hoping it was more of a coincident than a sign.

“Sure. Would love to.” I nodded, feeling my old family traditions rushing back to me before I could even take a breath. Dallon was inviting that other Boy into his house- back into my life. Even with innocent intentions, Dallon’s positivity was my worst enemy. “Dear Heavenly Father, we're thankful for this food and the chance we have to spend time together as friends. We're thankful for the people who helped prepare this food and please bless them. Please bless this food to nourish and strengthen our bodies. Please bless those who are not here with us with safety. We say these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen.” Dallon repeated.

Beside me Ryan echoed him and Spencer followed suit. As I opened my eyes, Breezy’s already seemed to be open, her head not bowed or moving. She was the last to say it, but hers was quiet and muted. Respectful, but obligatory. It left her lips just before she raised her wine glass.

“And we can’t forget, to Ryan.” She held her glass to the middle of the table, Spencer and Ryan lifting to meet hers.

“To Ryan.” We echoed. I grabbed Ryan’s other hand under the table to try and give him the support he offered me. The glass hesitated just in front of his mouth, Ryan watching Breezy and Spencer drink.

“You don’t have to drink it.” I breathed, lifting the glass of water that had been at my place setting to conceal my lips. “No one will notice.”

“I know.” Ryan returned, before placing the rim against his pressed lips. The wine sat against them before sloshing back as he lowered his glass. Not a drop tasted. “I’ll be fine.” Ryan assured me, placing it back in front of him. “Really.” He squeezed my hand as he looked around the table at the new conversation starting and food being served. “We can do this.” He assured me with a wink.

“-it was in a hospital, actually.” Breezy replied, reaching down to take Spencer’s plate. “Never thought I’d meet the love of my life in a _hospital_.”

“That sounds… kind of awful.” Ryan noted, his eyebrows furrowing as he joined in. “A hospital?” I was in a sleazy bar, half a step from unconsciousness; I figured _that_ was worse.

“God works in mysterious ways I suppose.” Dallon shrugged, handing his plate to Breezy’s hand that was open to him.

“What happened?” I asked. “Were you both sick?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Dallon shook his head. “We were both fine. Both just visiting.”

“I was going room to room singing to patients.” Breezy mentioned it like it was the most natural business someone could have in a hospital. “And then I bumped into him.”

“I was there… to see a friend.” Dallon explained, taking the plate from Breezy and shared a muted but meaningful look with her. “I was fine.”

“You sure were.” Breezy repeated, winking at him. Dallon looked embarrassed but cracked a smile at her. Now I understood why Ryan’s overt flirting in the laundromat went over so well; he was dating someone with the same tendencies.

“What an odd place to meet someone.” Spencer noted. “Right place at the right time, right?”

“Definitely.”

Dallon was smitten with Breezy, looking at her like a flower to the sun. Wherever she went, he followed. They completed each other in a way that made it seem like all human beings were meant to have an extension in the form of another human being. They were different- in very obvious ways- but their differences weren’t something that showed holes in their relationship, only strengths. Where Dallon didn’t dare cross a line, Breezy stepped fearlessly over it and stood on the other side, smiling at Dallon and respecting his refusal to follow. They had safety in their differences, no judgment. It amazed and perplexed me how Dallon did it all.

“Now your turn.” Breezy pointed at Ryan and me. Ryan reached for the wine glass immediately, putting it to his lips, occupying himself and moving the responsibility onto my shoulders. “I don’t know how you just _happened_ to bump into each other.”

The story was far less acceptable in this setting. I couldn’t even admit that I was at a bar; Dallon was under the impression I didn’t drink. I had to give the impression that I was _joining_ the faith, not running from it. And no story about Ryan and I seemed to accomplish that. Even Spencer was trying to busy himself with his food, hiding the scrambling behind his eyes.

“Uh, the story isn’t very good.” I said, shrugging. “Not as interesting as yours.”

“Did you run into each other at church?” Breezy asked. Ryan coughed, red wine dribbling onto his plate.

“No. Not at a church.” Ryan said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I’m, uh, I’m _not_ a Mormon.”

“Oh! I had no idea.” Breezy turned to look at Dallon quickly. “Told you there are more people that date outside the church, Dallon.”

“Bren goes to a different church than me.” Dallon pointed out, lifting a finger from the table to point at me. “I am wearing out my welcome with partners at mine though, I believe.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, so they can take all the time they need to get used to me.” Breezy laughed, grabbing his hand and shaking it.

If I hadn’t had a vault of shameful secrets that I kept from the church sitting inside myself, darkening me from the inside out, I might not have noticed the way the corner of Dallon’s mouth twisted and eyes looked over at Breezy for only a moment- letting himself have only a flash of something he didn’t think he deserved. I kept my eyes on Dallon as Breezy picked up a conversation with Ryan, his eyes slowly raising from his plate and finding mine. I gave him only a moment’s acknowledgement before letting him go. He didn’t know what kind of liar he was trying to fib to. Lying about my identity was a skill I was still acquiring, but lying about comfort in a situation that made you feel like a sub-human creature was something I grew up with. It was innate for me, while Dallon was still trying to grasp it. Ryan was right; I don’t think we had the full story with Dallon, but I was the Boy in the Paper. I could get the story. I was a chameleon. Brendon just had to regress into his old ways and I could ease Dallon into his own truths- and then open him to the possibility that his shame could be handled in other ways.

“-so, Spencer, how do you fit into this whole equation?” I missed Breezy’s other transition, but was glad the pressure was off me and Ryan.

“Ryan and I grew up on the same street.”

“No way!”

“Friends since we were both five- well, Ryan was six.” Spencer nodded, his voice filled with joy.

“That is really sweet. What a coincidence.”

“Yeah. It really was.” Ryan agreed, having never considered his meeting with Spencer anything other than natural. It could have happened that they lived on the same street but never ran into each other. Their lives could have gone right past each other without a second thought. “Thank God that happened, right?” He laughed, winking at Spencer.

I did. I imagined where Ryan would have been if he hadn’t met Spencer and it wasn’t anywhere above ground.

“See? Always working in mysterious ways.” Dallon grinned. “Friendships built to last are those built by God.”

“Amen to that.” Spencer laughed, taking a sip of his wine. Ryan raised his glass shortly before bringing it to his lips again. He placed it back down and left it to be the only full glass, even as dinner wound down.

Dallon stood and began collecting plates as we all placed our forks down and leaned back in our chairs. Dallon collected all the silverware and walked into the kitchen. Breezy picked up the lasagna dish and followed behind Dallon, the two of them cleaning without a single word exchanged between them.

Ryan made use of their absence. “How do you feel?” He placed an arm around the back of my chair and leaned closer to me. “Still spinning?”

“No. I feel okay. That was okay.” I told him, nodding. “Minimal fear.”

“Told you. Now this is the easy part, just shooting the breeze. Ask about Breezy, get to know them as a couple. It’s easy. And if they ask about us, I’ll do all the lying.” He kissed me on the temple. “Not going anywhere.”

“What are you two talking about?” Spencer asked, having been sitting across from the exchange.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Spencer.” Ryan replied smugly. Already, Ryan was off and lying, covering me further. He was going to get the worst of the blast, voluntarily shifting people over so he could lay over the grenade. Spencer would be able to plead ignorance and Dallon would mostly be blown away by shock, not punishment.

“You look like you are up to nothing good, Ross.” Spencer noted, squinting at him. “I know that look.”

“I don’t know _what_ you are talking about.” Ryan gasped, placing a hand over his chest. “I am a stand -up citizen and an even better fag.”

“Excuse me?” Dallon was standing in the doorway, hands frozen as they tried to wipe themselves in a hand towel. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m a great fag.” He repeated, unaware of the look shooting across Dallon’s face.

“Maybe _don’t_ say it a third time.” I interrupted, waving Ryan’s words away. “Not everyone uses it as freely as you, Ry.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Dallon.” Ryan tried to will the still and shocked expression off Dallon’s face.

“It’s alright.” Dallon continued wiping his hands and relaxed his posture. “It just startled me. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Right. Sorry.” I said for Ryan. Ryan could read me faster than anyone else in that room, but he didn’t seem to notice that Dallon and I were made of the same words, just in a different order. Dallon liked to have a different cover. “Do you need any other help in the kitchen?”

“No, we’re just about cleaned up.” Dallon’s pleasant expression returned as he wiped off the table. Breezy’s heels shuffled in the other room before echoing towards us. She placed a hand on Dallon’s back, between his shoulder blades, as he leaned over.

“We ready, Dallon?”

“Practically finished.” Dallon replied, grinning as Breezy leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “You guys can all sit down in the parlor if you want. I’ll be right there."

Breezy waved us back to the first room of the house. Ryan and Spencer stood and followed while I trailed behind, not leaving Dallon alone in the dining room.

“You don’t have to wait. I have to do something before we sit down.” Dallon assured me. “Noticed I have to change to the light bulbs on the porch so you all can see when you leave. Can’t have you tripping into the rose bushes.”

“Let me help then.” I coaxed. I shouldered my way into the time he assumed he would have alone. “Double the hands, half the time.” It was a phrase my father always said to me, and by the suppressed smile on Dallon’s face, it was one his dad said as well. I found a way in, and he found comfort in our similarities.

“It should only take a second.”

“I don’t mind. Really.” I said, shaking my head and stepping towards him and away from the other room.

Dallon disappeared for a moment before reemerging with two lightbulb boxes in his hands. He sheepishly nodded me after him as we walked back out towards the door. In the other room, Breezy was sitting down in a grey paisley armchair across from Ryan and Spencer who were sitting down in a matching loveseat. Dallon lifted the boxes and wordlessly told Breezy of his business who just nodded and smiled. Ryan uncrossed his legs, looking like he was going to stand, but I waved him off subtly as I placed my hands in my pockets. This was something only Dallon and I could discuss. Just a dark past to a dimming future, one-on-one. It wasn’t the best idea, putting him in the same room alone with the Boy in the Paper, but it was our best option.

I didn’t quite notice the porch when I first walked up to the house. I was far too distracted to take in the sun-aged metal furniture and mosaic table sitting in front of the window that was lighting the parlor up when we walked in. There were potted plants along the porch and resting on the table. It was well kept, although I expected nothing less.

“I swear I replace these things weekly.” Dallon said, making conversation in the silence I created, staring out at the other houses around us. They were far more colorful than the ones in Spencer’s neighborhood. The for-sale house directly across from Dallon’s had macaw blue paneling and previously flowering bushes of varying summer-reminiscent colors. It was only one floor, a small square house meant for one. Or two. The shutters were a vibrant orange and had white accents painted around the edges that I couldn’t quite squint enough to identify.

“That house is nice.” I noted, pointing to it before crossing my arms across my chest.

“Yes it is.”  Dallon agreed, reaching up to unscrew the bulb of the light hanging on the side of the house beside the door. His back was to me but he seemed to know the house I was looking at.

“Who used to live there? Did you know them?” The house was in beautiful shape. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it to warrant its sale.

“Andrew used to live there.” Dallon said, his head ducked as he opened a light bulb box and juggled the new one out and old one back in. “My first and only boyfriend.”

“Wait. He lived _across_ from you?” I was incredulous only because no one _actually_ did that. “Did he live there before and then you guys met or…”

“No, he moved there after we started dating.” Dallon didn’t seem to notice the issue with the statement. I raised my eyebrows in surprise as he handed me a lightbulb box. “Well, he wasn’t exactly going to be living in _here_ , now was he?” Dallon gave me a pointed look; we both knew the rules.

“Good point.” I agreed, taking the box from Dallon hands and holding it in my own. Shaking it lightly and listening to the filament clink around inside. “I’m guessing once you guys went your separate ways he moved out…”

“No, he never moved out.” Dallon corrected casually, moving to the other light with a sidestep to the left. “He died.”

The box fell from my hands, and if it wasn’t broken before, it was then. “ _What.”_

“Andrew died last year.” Dallon apparently had a bomb of his own. A minefield laid out and carefully marked.

“Gosh- Dallon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you-”

“I told you, didn’t I? I can talk about it.” Dallon replied evenly, not stopping his work. “I’m getting through it.” His lines needed more rehearsing.

“But, still. I had no idea. I’m so sorry for your loss…. What- What happened?” I asked timidly, curious but trying not to sound interested in the morbid details. I wasn’t sure how successful I was; Dallon was far too kind to me.

“He got very sick.” Dallon switched out the bulbs and handed the box to me without turning around. “First person I knew to get GRID- sorry, they’re calling it AIDS now.”

“He had that?” I cringed as my shock and fear lead my tone rather than my sympathy. “Sorry… I just- I’ve never heard-”

“It’s okay. I understand; he was really one of the first people in town to get sick.” Dallon twisted the light into the stand. It lit up inside his hand, but we both stopped to stare at it. Our words happening around us instead of between us. “Got it from California.”

“That’s awful.” I gasped. “I can’t imagine getting to know someone and then them having-”

“Oh, I dated Andrew for eight years before he died.” Dallon corrected. “He got it from a _man_ from California.”

My knowledge on the disease didn’t extend far enough for me to know what Dallon was talking about. The information I had gotten on the subject was in passing because I was supposed to have understood Ryan and Spencer’s intense but vague warnings. I knew it was dangerous, deadly to people like me- like Ryan and Dallon- knew it could be protected against with condoms. But what _was_ it? What did it do? How did you catch it? I had no idea. The guy from California might have sneezed on Andrew, shared a drink, coughed- was it like the common cold?

I let the conversation subside as Dallon finished fixing the lights. There were no more words to follow his news. We walked back into the house and all three faces greeted us with pleasant grins, Ryan’s smile the brightest.

“We were just talking about you.” Ryan said, moving over so I could sit on the side opposite of Spencer. “Telling her about your time at college. And home.”

“Yeah, Ryan tells me you’re from Prescott.” Breezy picked up. “Dallon used to visit Arizona all the time- he ever tell you that?”

“Mentioned a few stories, yeah.” I said.

“How many times have you been to Arizona, Dallon?” Breezy questioned Dallon as he walked back in the room, taking the chair beside her.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dallon’s eyes widened as he tried to think. “I used to go down every week, then once a month… I used to be in Arizona more than Nevada.”

“Have business there?” I figured the question was harmless.

“No. A friend of mine used to live there… Then he moved up here.” Dallon replied, looking at me before switching to Ryan. Moved up here, across the street from him.

Andrew was the one who lived in Prescott, who went to mountain ranges, who had their entire life based in Arizona. It was Andrew’s life I was slowly peeling from his memory to make into my own cover story. Just like that, I was becoming someone else. Brendon was still a disguise.

The tightness returning in my throat and I grabbed Ryan’s hand quickly, my next intake of breath coming out as a wheeze. My fingernails dug into Ryan’s hand sharply and I tried not to notice how he jumped.  He muttered a quiet ‘ _ow_ ’ as he turned to look at me with confusion. It quickly melted into worry as he saw my wide-eyed expression and gaping mouth, gasping for breath. Dallon was telling a story about seeing the same earth I was supposed to have stood on, taking Andrew’s place. Standing on his memory without even knowing it. No one noticed me. I wasn’t really a person, after all. Only a string of lies.

“Breezy, where’s your bathroom?” Ryan asked suddenly, jumping through Dallon’s conversation but not stopping it. “Just suddenly feel like I need to wash my hands… We both do, I guess.” Ryan held up our linked hands with a chuckle.

“Straight through the dining room, turn into the kitchen and it’s right on your left.” She pointed and grinned at us as we passed, Ryan wrapped an arm around me to make sure I kept a straight path to the bathroom. My knees were buckling and I could feel my feet growing numb.

The powder room was small, but Ryan and I both crammed ourselves inside. Ryan shut and locked the door behind himself before leaning against the door. I pressed my back against the wall, resting my hands on my knees to give myself a sturdier balance.

“What happened?” Ryan asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You just started _choking-_ ”

“How can you get AIDS?” I blurted, knowing what I wanted from the well of information Ryan retained without letting the world know. 

“I- you don’t have AIDS, Brendon.” Ryan assured me, stepping closer and placing his hand on the back of my neck. “You don’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I corrected, taking a deep breath slowly. “How?”

“Uh,” Ryan blinked at me, trying to find my reasoning. “A lot of ways… Uh.”

“Can you get it from other people?”

“Yes. I think that’s the _only_ way, actually.” Ryan furrowed his eyebrows at me. “Why.”

“Would it make sense if I said that someone got it from someone from California… What does that mean?” I pressed, trying to get Ryan to see what I was asking. The sooner I got answers, the sooner the feeling in my hands might return.

“That person definitely got it from not wearing a condom then. They had sex with someone who had AIDS.” Ryan explained, stating only facts. “Again, _why_?”

“Dallon.” I sighed, trying to reorganize my thoughts.

“Wait- does _Dallon_ have-” Ryan leaned closer to me as he asked, fear filling his voice.

“No no no… He said…. He said an old boyfriend got it from someone in California.” I echoed. “Knew him for eight years and then he just… he got sick and then he died… Fuck, that’s just so horrible.” I shook my head and tried to push the thoughts aside. He moved from a different state to be with Dallon only to get sick and die. Dallon told their past memories with such fondness, and I only listened to them for the little truths I could pluck and make my own. I felt disgusting.

“Wait. Did you say _eight years_?” Ryan stopped, his voice flat. “And then he _got_ \- oh. Oh no.”

“What?” Ryan’s face stilled and went slack with realization.

“Did Dallon tell you all this?” Ryan ignored my confusion and continued. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I asked about the house across the street- he used to live there.”

“ _Fuck_.” Ryan winced and covered his face. “Fuck, Dallon. Why did he do that to you?”

“Him? Like God?” I was far behind on the revelation and scrambling to catch up. Ryan held the bridge of his nose as he sighed and let me have a moment with my question. “ _What_?”

“Dallon doesn’t live with people until he’s married, right?” Ryan asked me, waiting for me to nod. “And that also means he doesn’t have sex with them, right?”

“Well, _yeah_.”

“Well, all logical explanations considered, then that means Dallon’s boyfriend cheated on him, got sick, and was unable to hide it because _hey, eight years with the same virgin can’t lead to this_.” Ryan’s voice was quiet and his face was pale and disgusted. “That’s fucking awful. And then, to sit with him in the hospital and have someone come in _singing to him_. God, what a way to meet your girlfriend, right?”

“Oh my god.” The house that stared across the street to Dallon was the same house he must have found his boyfriend sick and aching and guilt-stricken. Dallon stared at it every day and showed no anger or resentment. He just swallowed it and kept on living, following the faith that inadvertently lead his presumably _non-_ Mormon boyfriend to his death. The church coming around to someone who only proved to be the stereotype they all feared, Dallon deflecting the shame and keeping his chin up. ‘Painful optimist’ indeed, Dallon.

Of course Dallon ‘couldn’t’ leave the church, his faith had a body count. And I could also see why he wanted Brendon home so badly. One less person to fall victim to the harsh punishment of God. I was hoping I was still going under his radar-

“We can’t stop Dallon.” I blurted, shaking my head and standing up straight. Ryan’s hand slid further down my neck and rested between my shoulder blades. He resituated it so both rested on the sides of my face, trying to see what was happening behind my eyes. “We can’t make him stop. Those flyers, we can’t.”

“What?” Ryan leaned closer to me, as if I was in a separate world he wanted to slip into. “Brendon, his act of charity is literally a threat to your current life.”

“I know. I know. But we can’t ask him to stop. That’s his thing with God’s he’s got to deal with.” I continued, trying to lead Ryan along. “He’s got to fight for Brendon…. A-And I have to leave Andrew.” I ran a hand through my hair and thought of all the lies covering me, wrapping around my neck again, choking me. I collected them as I went, there was no escape. I pulled on my blond hair and turned away from the reflection on my left, hovering above the sink.

“I have _no idea_ what you are saying, but okay.” Ryan sighed, holding my face strongly in his hands. “Whatever that means, okay. We’ll just,” he took a deep breath and sighed, smiling at me weakly. “We’ll just keep going. I’m with you all the time.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Keep going.”

“I still kind of scared.” I muttered, grabbing a fistful of Ryan’s shirt lightly. He hummed, waiting for me to continue. “What if I never get away.”

“Not now.” Ryan hushed, shaking his head. “Don’t think about that now. Today we are doing one thing. And it’s a dinner party. We left all the worry at the apartment. We left our all our weird feelings at the front door, the dumpster, and the car, okay?”

I tightened my grip on his shirt and took a slow breath in. I still could. The lies hanging around my shoulders were far enough way I could ignore them for another day. Brendon was less of a real person than I thought. I knew I was lying to Spencer, but I thought the lies were harmless, not a bastardization of a life that used to walk beside Dallon. The only person who even remotely knew about my life before, about _Brendon_ , was Ryan. And he was stuck looking at my disguise day in and day out. I couldn’t even be fully honest with him as I hid behind someone else.

“Can we go home soon?”

“Absolutely.” Ryan agreed. “I drove us here; I decide when we go back.” Ryan kissed my cheek softly before stepping back and turning on the faucet, letting the sound of the water travel to the other room. As we both, stood in front of the sink, Ryan looked down at the water while I stared straight ahead. I thought I had walked out of a disguise, thought I had been freed from my lies, only to have walked right into a new one. I twisted my earring studs nervously, not caring when my fingers twisted a back too far and it came off, tumbling out of my fingers. I did the same to the other and pulled the studs out, stuffing them into my front pocket.

Step one. First nail out of my coffin.

We walked back out to find Breezy standing from her chair. She walked over to us, arms out before her words even began.

“I should really start heading back; I have an early day tomorrow.” She hugged each of us tightly, her hands open and splaying over my shoulders as she pressed me into her. “So nice to meet you, Bren and Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you too, Breezy.” I said, trying not to let her hair get in my face as my chin hovered over her shoulder. “Thank you for dinner.”

“It was my pleasure. It’s always nice to cook for more than just the two of us.” She motioned towards Dallon who was also standing, listening to her. 

“I think we ought to go too,” Ryan added once Breezy had walked over to Dallon to say goodbye. Their hug was brief, her hands were placed carefully on his back, his doing the same. They kissed each other on the cheek before stepping back. Under three seconds, bodies never fully touching. “We’ve both got work tomorrow.”

“Yeah… Pretty early day.” Spencer continued, picking up the lie as his eyes stared at Ryan with confusion. “Can’t be falling asleep on the job.”

“Drive safe.” Dallon called to Breezy as she walked out the door. “You too, gentlemen.” He extended a hand to Ryan.

“I will.” Ryan sighed, as if he was being lectured. He broke into a smile and winked as he shook Dallon’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you for coming. Feel free to stop by any time.” Dallon offered, holding his arms out to the room before letting them fall by his sides. “It’s always just me.”

“You know what, you should stop by our apartment some time.” Spencer suggested, looking to us for approval. “Let me make you and Breezy dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Dallon bowed his head as a sign of gratitude. “Thank you.”

“See you around, Dallon. Take care of yourself.” Ryan clapped him on the back before starting out the door.

The three of us walked to the car, even with one another. Spencer split from the formation only to go to the passenger side of the car, bottle of wine in hand, while Ryan and I continued to the left side of the car. Ryan opened the driver’s door and pulled the seat back, letting me climb in the back. As I buckled my seatbelt, Ryan looked out towards the street, his eyes finding the same house mine did hours before. He pulled the seat back without taking his eyes off of it, off of the history we knew was hiding in its four walls. The history that wasn’t going to go away no matter what new family moved into the house. The history that Dallon pretended to be unaware of.

Ryan tore his eyes away and got into the car just as Spencer started to make small talk. The drive back home held a steady stream of conversation, all three of us mustering up the best we could as the evening slowly dawned on us; our exhaustion from the past few days had been displaced by all our adrenaline. Finally, a minimally stressful evening reaped a wave of exhaustion hitting us all right as Ryan navigated the car into the parking lot.

“I am walking in that door and going right to sleep.” Spencer yawned, walking into the lobby first.

“Second that.” Ryan nodded, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and letting me lean into his side. “I don’t think a couch will _ever_ be as comfortable.”

“Couch tonight?” Spencer echoed, his brain only regurgitating the words he found to conflict with his own preset ideas.

“Yeah, need a break from you kicking me.” Ryan laughed, slowly treading the stairs. “I was spoiled while staying at Ginger’s; a bed _all_ to myself.”

“Okay. Suit yourself.” Spencer chuckled. “You are far too tall for that couch.” 

“I’ll manage.” Ryan said, looking at me with assuring eyes as I nudging his side with the same concern. “A few nights on the couch won’t break me.”

Spencer laughed and shook his head, still disagreeing but leaving Ryan in the foyer as soon as he opened the front door. He walked into his bedroom, yawning as he went and still oblivious to the sudden missing furniture; the first time he was in a rush and now he was far too tired. We were given more time. Ryan said good night before lifting his arm from my shoulders to begin removing his shoes and kicking them under the coffee table.

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” I said quietly, shuffling over to my room. The posters and book were still sitting on the dresser, waiting for me. “H-Hey, Ryan?”

“Yeah, Brendon?” Ryan answered, turning to look at me as he fixed the couch cushions.

“Thank you.” I managed awkwardly, gripping the door frame as I turned to confess. “You know, for being there with me tonight.” I paused and forced myself to say it. “For being my boyfriend.”

“Never a problem.” Ryan grinned. He stood from fixing the pillows and began walking over to me. “And see, we got through dinner no problem. You were great. We’re all safe.” He leaned into me and kissed me only for a second, keeping the world spinning at its normal speed. Minimal interference, although my heart felt like it had begun to race. Ryan went to step back from me but I reached up to grab his face, pulling it into mine. I _wanted_ to stop time. I wanted to have this moment with him. I wanted to get as much time as we could, now that we couldn’t interfere with Dallon and I was going to have to live with only Brendon.

Ryan stumbled as I pulled him in, his face and lips partially frozen in shock for a moment before melting and moving with mine again. The silence of the room dropped out and dipped into the slow thudding of my heart in my ears. Ryan’s hands slipped around my waist and together we tried to share the same breath, same heartbeat, same second of time. I opened my mouth up further, the way Marc always used to make me, his tongue shoving past my lips. I waited for Ryan to do the same, but instead he pulled back, resting his forehead on mine. He was panting, his chest heaving and lightly brushing against mine as it rose. His eyes were still closed as he tried speaking to me, every time his lips moving they seemed to try to get closer to mine.

“Hey, Ryan.” I breathed, cutting off his next attempt at speaking coherently. His breath was warm on my lips and his hands were pressed tightly into my hips. He was absorbed in the same extended moment I was, both of us slowly trying to regain our balance with the new spinning world. We had stolen a few extra moments from the time that ticked towards detonation.

“Yeah.” He nodded our heads, his forehead bringing mine up and down as well.

“I, uh,” The words were so much easier to think than to say. So much easier to mutter to yourself than to the flushed, dumbly grinning, panting, and wordless man they were meant for. “I- uh, I… Good night.” I left the words behind and picked new ones.

Ryan’s eyes fluttered open and he straightened up to look at me. Even he could hear the abandonment in my voice. He placed a careful kiss on my cheek. “Good night, Brendon.”

“See you in the morning, Ryan.” I said, standing in my doorway as he slowly backed away, mouth fighting a full-face grin.

“See you tomorrow.” Ryan agreed. “Another day that we can totally handle.” He winked at me just before I shut my door.

Brendon was going to live tomorrow. He had made his last costumed appearance. He wanted to be free; that was the whole reason I ran in the first place. I ran, fear pushing every footstep until my feet couldn’t carry me any farther and I depended on those that others laid out for me. I kept going until I saw the sun coming over the horizon, someone to follow and keep my eyes focused on. I met a man who had nothing and a man who had everything. And even the man who had everything was just trying to make the void opening around him seem like something; that man said he had both, that he had made it. And finally, I started to believe him. He had the religion, the family, and the future all because he had the past. Every day he acknowledged and lived with the past that brought him to his knees and nearly broke him. And I knew that was what I had to do. I had to take Brendon back. And if honesty was going to get me sent home, was going to cause me to explode, I’d rather die the right man, than die as no man at all.


	4. Pulled into Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapters except, a little, uh intimacy about half way through...  
> There is also a mention of a poem by Walt Whitman, On the Beach at Night Alone, that is worth the read.  
> Enjoy and have a great holiday!

I couldn’t sleep very well and spent most of the night counting the seemingly frozen seconds that crawled by. By the time the sun finally gathered enough energy to rise and shine brightly in the sky, I was already up and dressed, sitting on the edge of my bed, waiting for other signs of movement to echo in the house. I kicked my feet back and forth, my toes bumping lightly against the dresser in front of me. The dresser was still mostly empty, only the two top most drawers filled with clothes that were passed down onto me. My sweatshirt still hung in the closet, mostly unaccompanied. My feet thudded into the empty drawers, hopefully not waking anyone in the house. My feet moved mindlessly as my attention fell to the book sitting on the corner of my dresser. I was clueless to its contents, but it was calling to me. My interest piquing as I thought of reading the poems Ryan thought enough of to write his own in the accompanying margins.

In the humming silence of the apartment, I reached forward and slid the book closer to me. The sound of the hardcover grazing over the wood practically rattled the house. The cracking spine sounding like the foundation of the building crumbling. I peered onto the title page of the book carefully. Along the bottom of the page, a name was scribed in skillful cursive. The first word was scratched over, the pen leaving carving marks and tearing the page where it worn down the integrity. The two words following were ‘ _R. Ross’_. The three ‘I’s drawn after were crossed out with two hasty lines. I left the first page and began just paging through the poem. Part of me felt like I was snooping, reading things I had no right to be looking at. It was all private, words written in an already published book to keep them safer and more hidden than if they were written in a blank one. There was a dog-eared page that stopped on my finger as I paged through. I swallowed slowly as I picked up the book, bringing it closer.

_On the Beach at Night Alone_.

I was unable to confidently find where the printed words and Ryan’s written ones began. The page was crammed with enough thought and confession to weigh heavily in my hands as I rested it on my legs.  There were too many words to construct a singular thought, my eyes trying to find the beginning of the running string. My eyes landed on words, both Ryan’s and not, painting the image of the vastness of the universe that awaited you as you gazed over the ocean at the extending horizon. The infinity was palpable. Ryan’s dream lived on this page- the ocean, the sky, the salty wind, the endless universe stretching out in front of you. He had put it all to rest here.

Ryan wrote lightly, vertically along the spine, ‘ _ocean; the ultimate temptress. It stretches far beyond any reach you ever thought you had and pulls you out further with every breath. You’ll drown in her embrace, but you won’t miss a single breath that slips out of your grasp’._ Ryan focused on the vastness, the way the ocean had no beginning and no end. We tried to contain it foolishly, but all had our fair chance of dying in it. The ocean was a force no human could stop; limitless, powerful, and gentle. Ryan admired it. He was envious.

“Hey Bren?” I slammed the book shut and threw it back on the dresser, standing just as Spencer cracked the door open. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah! Sure!” I chirped, rubbing my palms on my jeans.

“Oh! You’re awake.” Spencer noted, slightly surprised. “I just wanted to tell you I’m off to work. Ryan is still asleep and I just didn’t want you to wake up and think the house was empty.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I nodded and let Spencer back out of the room again.

My smile was tense and I was hoping Spencer took it as no sign to his entrance. I just didn’t expect the opportunity to come up so quickly. I felt like I was going backwards, living everything in reverse. I guess I was, but the result was hopefully going to be very different. Going back in order to repair.

"Wait. Spencer?” I called, walking out of my room.

“Yeah?” He whispered, grabbing his keys.

“Can I go to work with you today?” I asked. “I just need something from the pharmacy.”

“Oh.” Spencer blinked at me, agreeing but uneasy by my vagueness. “Sure. I’ll drive you over. Will you be okay walking back?”

“That’s fine.” I assured him. “Just need something. Got plans today.”

“Are you sure we don’t have it in the apartment?” Spencer was tip-toeing around something, but I wasn’t sure what he thought I was hiding; he had been wrong so many times before, I was just as clueless. “I mean, I’ll still take you, but I’m just saying it’s not a bad idea to dig around your drawers again. I’m sure I bought you some.” Spencer’s words swerved around his actual meaning. The scene was hard to watch.

“I just need some hair dye.” I said finally. “What did you _think_ I needed?”

“Oh. Yeah. We don’t have that in the apartment.” Spencer shook his head as he laughed to himself. “I thought you needed- nothing. I’ll buy you some; I have a worker’s discount.”

“Thanks.” I allowed my expression to furrow as Spencer turned his back and left the apartment. What was the first thing that came to Spencer’s mind? I mean, I was standing there, dark roots stretching _just_ above the appropriate levels to be considered fashionable and my own personal hairdresser asleep on the couch to my right. What was _he_ thinking I was planning on doing that day?

Spencer was running through a silent checklist as he took the stairs. I bounded after him, holding my glasses as I went. Spencer took long strides from the stair landing, walking through the lobby and fixing his watch. Spencer was already at the front door by the time I got to the lobby, all my faces staring back at me. I had to cross the gauntlet all by myself. It was the beginning of the rest of my life. I kept my head down and walked quickly, reaching the door just as Spencer’s hand left the handle.

“Spencer- would you _wait_?” I grabbed the back of his shirt just as it was in my reach, slowing him to my speed. “Where’s the fire?”

“Sorry. Just, excited to get to work.” Spencer admitted, shaking his head and patting me on the back in apology. 

“Excited.” I echoed. “To stand behind a counter and do absolutely _nothing_.”

“Yeah.” Spencer had a smile on his face that negated all lies. “I actually am.” He shrugged at me and unlocked his car door, climbing inside. He leaned over the console and opened my door for me, giving me another moment to myself to continue to stare at Spencer with confusion.

“You… You don’t even do the job that pays a lot.” I pointed out. Spencer was strictly a fill-in kind of guy; he didn’t have the degree needed to work _in_ the pharmacy itself, but he could handle the money. They trusted him with that much.

“I am aware.” Spencer laughed, adjusting the mirrors. “We are still trying to recover from that payment they lost.” 

Spencer started the car and began backing out of the parking spot, nearly stalling the car as he switched gears. He remained focused as he went between the gears, just trying to get us on the road. He was struggling, but he continued to smile, pleasant and patient with his own horrible skill. I knew since the moment I met Spencer he chose to remain positive about _all_ things, but this was beyond a positive neutral, this was genuine happiness. About going to _work_. Spencer was only a year older than me- about to be two the following day- there was no way he had some mature wisdom I was lacking that just slapped a smile on your face at all moments. Dumb, mindless smiling wasn’t a characteristic of most men. Well, unless-

“This is about that woman at work, isn’t it?” I clapped my hands together, everything finally clicking together. “Lindy… _Linda_!”

“It might be.” Spencer admitted sheepishly.

“You really like her.” It was an immature and topical statement, but I held no shame at calling Spencer on his bluff.

“I love her.” Spencer stated quickly, no fear in the sentence; he had told her before.

“You do?” I gasped. “Why don’t you bring her over to the apartment… It’s not me and Ryan, is it?” Spencer had a life that extended beyond the one that ran beside Ryan’s. I wasn’t surprised- he was his own person- but to be so sure of something as strong and tortuous and vexing and beautiful as _love_ , but never bring her to his own home seemed to be on two different pages; something wasn’t adding up.

“No no no.” Spencer assured me, stopping at a red light and lifting his hands from the wheel to shake them at the idea. “It’s not you.” He placed his hands back on the wheel with a thud, a beat filling his own silence. “It’s me.”

“You?”

“I- I don’t want to mess anything up with her… She’s just. She’s the love of my life, Bren.” Spencer laughed and broke into another bright grin. “I don’t want to do anything to screw up what I have with her… I’m not good with this kind of stuff.”

“You’ve kept Ryan for few years.” I joked, pointing at him.

“Yeah, but look where I am with that.” He shot me a look quickly before looking back at the road. I was almost positive that Spencer acknowledged, accepted, and joked with the idea of me being with his childhood friend. “Can’t even keep a boy I grew up with. I definitely can’t keep a girl with enough smarts and beauty to keep me silent and in awe until we both turn gray.”

“Well, she’s into you too, right?” I asked, leaning against the car door to face Spencer better. “I mean, she knows your name and everything?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Ryan.” Spencer noted, turning to look at me with squinted eyes. “But _yes_. She knows me _name_. And is very much into me.” His voice sounded assured and warm; she had told him herself. Spencer’s life was onto its next curve in the path. No matter what happened to me, or to me and Ryan, Spencer was on his way. I knew he’d carry on. Spencer would be protected from the blast.

“You should bring her to dinner.” I said. “Her, us- maybe even Dallon and Breezy.”

“You think so?” Spencer was shocked by the idea, turning to look at me and nearly missing the pharmacy. “Have her meet _everyone_ at once?”

“If you have Dallon and Breezy, she’s not the only person meeting someone.” I suggested. “Dallon and Breezy are still getting to know us all, she won’t feel like the outsider to you and your childhood friend- and his boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t sound half crazy…” Spencer muttered, nearly switching the car into neutral as he turned into the parking lot.

“See what a partial college education will do for you!” I joked, impressed by my own immediate response. I was almost starting to believe my own lies.

“I’ll have to ask her.” Spencer continued, pulling into the employee section of the parking lot and finding the right gear gracefully. “You really think it’s a good idea?”

“Definitely.” I had about zero dating experience since Marc would not be caught _dead_ having a meal with my family, but the idea didn’t seem so bad. Anyone that Spencer brought home would be welcomed by me and Ryan, and Dallon would be pleased to meet the girl that lit up Spencer’s world just as brightly as Breezy did to his.

Spencer and I got out of the car and started for the front doors, his smile returning as he walked through them. He pointed at the register and said some half-constructed sentence before continuing to walk to the back of the store. I let Spencer head towards the pharmacy and weaved my way through the aisles until I got to the hair dye. It was slightly disconcerting, staring at all the images of women’s faces on the covers of the boxes and trying to match colors. I picked up a box and covered the woman’s face and half of her hair. It was maybe a shade darker than what I was typical for me, but I figured it was better than the white-ish mess growing on top of my head. Brendon could have something a little darker for his great return to civilization.

“Are you finding everything okay?” A polite voice asked, the tone quiet and kind. I turned to see a woman in a white lab coat, stopped by the endcap of the aisle. Her skin was pale and porcelain, nearly matching her coat. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly into a professional bun, not a single hair out of place. Her smile was vibrant and inviting. I didn’t really need to read the name tag to know who she was.

“I’m fine, thank you.” I answered, lifting the box in my hand. “Got everything I need.”

“Okay! Have a nice day then.” She nodded quickly before continuing to walk back to the pharmacy. I could only imagine the smile Spencer was giving her as she approached, the two of them stealing a moment as the world continued to turn.

I walked back to the registers and spotted Celia behind the counter. She seemed surprised by my lone adventure, but smiled and waved at me.

“Where’s Ryan?” She asked, looking around as if he was trailing me. “Stay home today?”

“Still sleeping. Long few days.” I shrugged.

“He taking care of himself?” She looked at me with a more serious expression. She placed the dye box into a plastic bag and reached down under the counter for a small gray box and placed it in the bag as well. “You let me know if he is tired for too long, okay?”

“I- okay.” I nodded. “I will.” I didn’t want to make Celia feel embarrassed for her unwarranted worry, but I let her expression remain as I agreed with her.

“I’ll put this on Spencer’s account, you’re all taken care of.” She said, handing the bag to me. “Have a nice day, Bren, and tell Ryan I said hi.”

“I will, thanks.”

I made sure I was out of the pharmacy and down the street before I looked in the bag. I really was doing it all over again. No turning back this time either. The evidence would be there and once a set of eyes saw me, there was no way to talk myself out of it. I was being a complete _idiot_ but I couldn’t keep living in other people’s shoes or pulling the lives of other people towards disaster. Brendon had to live independently. He had to be responsible for every ounce of pain he has or will cause someone.

The hair dye was sitting at the bottom of the bag, but so was that other box that Celia placed in there, no comment added. I reached in and grabbed it, pulling it out of the bag to squint at the label. It had _Durex_ written across the front of the small box. It looked like a pack of cigarettes, but I wasn’t sure why Celia would have given me a pack of cigarettes. Especially in the same breath she talked about Ryan. I kept walking, head down as I fiddled with the tab, lifting the top of the box. There were small metallic slips inside, the material crinkling as I reached inside. The material was familiar, the odd feeling of weak, but still slick plastic wrappings. I stopped at a crosswalk and tried to remember where the familiarity came from. It made me think of home- high school more specifically. It was reminiscent of Marc- the only person I spent a remarkable amount of time with. I looked inside the box again and shifted one closer to the edge of the box, looking at it fully.

I quickly shoved the lid back down and crammed the box back into the bag. It was a box of condoms and this was a suburban city at midday. I could feel my embarrassment heating my face as I quickly darted across the street, quietly wishing a car would run the red light and crash into me. How was I supposed to walk in the door with _these_? I felt so naïve, investigating a box of condoms like they were something new and interesting. They _were_ but I wasn’t supposed to think like that. I was a grown man- well, still growing hopefully- I was supposed to know what a condom looked like. I had seen pictures in health class, but in person the occasion was far less frequent. That was Marc’s business. We never had any condoms in my house so it was always Marc’s responsibility to bring what he wanted or needed. And sometimes that was just me. They were always in _his_ wallet or _his_ pocket and were only in his hands before being on him. I didn’t even know how to put a condom on. Didn’t know what one felt like on in your hands or on your body. It was a foreign concept for me.

My walk suddenly felt like my trek to school. I felt small and sheltered and afraid and confused about everything passing me. I was right back as a scared Mormon, looking at myself in the mirror the first time I really thought about what made me like hanging out with boys from my gym class after school. Right back to that first time I was kneeling at Marc’s feet, confused and being coaxed into things I really didn’t understand, but knowing that it was supposed to be good and that made it all okay. Right back to sitting in the pews of the church, staring up at the priest that was all but pointing at me and banishing me directly to hell. Right back to lying on the kitchen floor, oxygen burning my lungs as I gasped for what I thought would be my last breath. I was right back in the middle of it all; it was about time. I deserved my punishment.

I walked through the growing sidewalk traffic, enjoying how they barely looked at me, reaching the apartment building without any confrontations. There were a few tenants standing at the mailbox, oblivious to my entrance; their eyes were transfixed on the face of the boy pasted on the wall. I climbed the stairs quickly, trying not to make any noise as I approached the third floor; I didn’t want to wake Ryan. Although, as I approached the door, I could already hear Ryan shuffling around inside. I gripped the bag handles tightly in my hand, hiding its contents, and opened the unlocked door.

“Brendon?” Ryan asked as the door creaked open.

“Yeah?” I answered, stepping inside. Ryan came walking out of Spencer’s room and towards me quickly. “What?”

“I woke up to dead fucking silence, that’s what.” Ryan laughed, placing his hands on my face to properly land a kiss on my lips that were trying to explain themselves out of trouble.

“I went out with Spencer.” I said vaguely.

“Oh, you went to the pharmacy?” Ryan’s hands rested on my shoulders as I kicked the door shut. His eyes fell to the bag in my hand. “What did you get?”

“Nothing.” I defended, my subtlety going out the window the minute I felt the world blurring.  I couldn’t be distracted. I was doing this for Ryan too. “Just some hair stuff.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ryan said, sliding his hands down my arms. “Do you need any help?”

“No. No I figured I’ll just do it before getting in the shower and then just wash it all out, ya know?” I tried to slow my speech as I walked toward the bathroom.

“Okay. I’m was going to start making breakfast, but I’ll wait about ten or so minutes so it’s ready when you’re finished.” Ryan let me slip from his fingers and get my hands on the bathroom door. “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah. That sounds great. Ten minutes. Sure.” I nodded quickly, swinging the door open and shutting it behind me far too swiftly to evade suspicion.

“Hey, Brendon?” Ryan said knocking on the door as I began to place the boxes out on the sink counter. “Did Spencer say something to you?”

“No. Just, feeling a little off today. Not feeling myself.” I answered. “I just really need a shower.”

“Okay.” Ryan sounded worried but his footsteps carried him away from me.

I quickly pulled my shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor. I avoided looking at the miraged reflection in front of me as I opened the dye box and began reading the instructions. It was similar to what I did before back in my own bathroom; mix chemicals I couldn’t pronounce and avoid breathing too much of it in as I shook bottles and kept self-timers. The dye was contained in a little bottle with an open nozzle meant to just spit it out onto my scalp. The box also had a set of thin, otherwise useless, pair of plastic gloves. I figured having color splotched hands wouldn’t be a subtle look either and made sure I had the gloves on before starting to squeeze the paste onto my head. I wasn’t sure what the method was, but just kept rubbing the color over my blond hair, hoping it would turn the proper color and finally match the roots that refused to lie. After the bottle began to sputter and spit more air into my hair than dye, I threw it in the trash and sat down on the edge of the tub., the same place I watched Ryan be stitched up after defending a boy he barely knew. The same place I realized that Brendon wasn’t the one who should be hidden and pushed away. The place I was bringing him back from the dead.

Even though I tried not to allow it, my attention slowly kept falling to the box of condoms on the sink. I felt embarrassed, even in my own solitude, thinking of their implications. What they were for. Brent had the ability to shrug it off and convince Ryan and Spencer he knew what they were for and the actions involved, Bren never encountered it and just focused on staying a secret, but Brendon had been in contact with them only in non-informative settings, my questions and confusion being pushed aside and numbed into complacency through firm directions and annoyed looks. My sex experience was minimal at best; everything that Marc wanted was what I did. I had no method or skill or even an idea of what I was doing; the third time we were together, I asked Marc questions, now that I was beginning to realize that it was going to be a habit, but every question was greeted with a quiet hush and the consistent answer of ‘ _I don’t know. Just do it_ ’. I made no arguments- but now look where it got me. Brendon didn’t know what it was like to feel that storybook passion that made every moment feel like a dream. All I could remember was feeling dazed.

But then there was Ryan. Ryan wasn’t someone who shied away from his own sexual history- even living with someone from it, problem free. It wasn’t any expectation I felt placed over my head, but I felt obligated to consider the idea of having sex with Ryan. I didn’t know how it would go. How did two people typically do it? All I knew was planned out times and hasty, conversation-less quickies in back seats I didn’t fit in or houses I didn’t live in. I didn’t know what it would be like when Ryan could read my mind, my face, my eyes, my entire body before I even knew what I was thinking myself. I didn’t know what it would be like to have that level of vulnerability- to have the kind that didn’t scare you. I felt no involuntary fear of the thought when I considered it, but also didn’t know if that was just Brendon going along with the idea per usual. I didn’t know how much I had been lying and hiding before I left; I was a professional far before reaching Spring Valley.

Maybe being Brendon, the full and complete image and person, would allow that last bit of hesitation disappear; I could exist in suspended time with Ryan without fear. Or maybe allowing that scared, awkward convenience in the apartment could be the end of everything.

There was really only one way to find out.

I took off the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower, not waiting for the water to warm up entirely before stepping under the stream of water. The water pooling around my feet began turning brown as I stepped back and hung my head over, not wanting streaks of brown dye all over my back. I reached over to grab a bottle of shampoo, habit making me grab the bottle Ryan had bought for me. But the bottle meant to protect bleached hair no longer applied to me and I grabbed another bottle that was bent from repeated pressure applied to the center of the bottle. I recognized it immediately as Ryan’s shampoo. It didn’t really have a distinct smell- unlike my old shampoo which was meant for woman and had a noticeable floral smell. As I scrubbed my scalp, careful not to scrape it, the soap foaming on my hands didn’t smell like a women’s hair salon for once. Already, Brendon was going back to normal; my father would never let his son use girly shampoo. My rigid role in the house was coming back stronger than ever, and I wasn’t even _in_ the house.

After I was all clean and dye-less, I turned off the faucet and redressed. I tried to dry my hair the best I could with the towel, trying to let it fall naturally and reflect my old hairstyle- except with far _less_ hair. The mirror allowed me peace of mind as I step forward to adjust the piece of hair sticking out of place. My glasses still sat on the sink ledge and I had to squint to see the face staring back. The comfort hit me immediately. After all the running and hiding, I never would have thought I would end up with Brendon again. Change the scenery, never the person. Any time worth living was going to be time spent as Brendon- even if he was being hunted down by every person who even had a minor interest in his safety or gossip of the town. Why get rid of Brendon when _this_ was the boy they refused to accept? Why get rid of him? Why not prove them all wrong and live my life anyway?

I pulled my shoulders back and took a deep breath before placing my glasses back on my nose and going for the door. It wasn’t going to be a smooth reaction, I at least knew that much.

“You are right on time.” Ryan said, hearing the door open. I could hear him placing plates on the counter, his voice getting closer. “I was just ab-” Ryan froze as he rounded the corner. In a moment, I saw in his eyes that he almost didn’t recognize me. He gawked at me standing in the middle of the living room, a completely different boy than when we first met. The process had been slow, but now it was complete. “What did you do.”

“I dyed it back.” I stated plainly. Innocently.

“What did you do.” Ryan said again, walking towards me as if to hide me from the curtain-covered windows. “What were you thinking.”

“You never knew the real color.” I argued. The real Brendon hadn’t existed in the apartment. Or even in Ryan’s presence. His story was slowly being told, but I was still living as someone else.

“That wasn’t something I was going to… going to _go to the grave mad about_!” Ryan exclaimed, his arms raised and hands hovering around my head, unsure of my new feature. “I wasn’t going to be mad about something you did to stay away from people that threatened your well-being, Brendon.”

“I wanted to do this.” I assured him. “You didn’t change anything when you ran away-”

“Don’t do this, Brendon.” Ryan begged, sounding suddenly distraught. This wasn’t right. “Don’t do anything because of me. Please don’t.”

“I didn’t. It’s for me.”

“Brendon, please don’t be stupid. Please tell me this is a joke.” Ryan rambled, looking at me like I was a pin-less grenade sitting in his hands, nowhere to pass it off, nowhere to hide. “Your photo is fucking _plastered_ on _every wall_ downstairs.” He cried. “They take one look and they will find you. They’ll see you right away. Brendon, someone will call the police and you will be reported back home before Spencer and I even have the chance to protect you.”

Ryan was beginning to realize just how dangerous I was. I couldn’t help it. I had to watch the fear wash over Ryan’s face as I brought my time of detonation far closer, but put myself in the most danger rather than Ryan or Spencer. Martyrdom at its finest.

“Brendon, change it back. Change it _back-_ ”

“I _did_.”

“That’s not-”

“I can’t put all the responsibility on you guys. I have to be honest if I want to make it out of all of this alive. Can’t live a fake life anymore. I could never get a job, go to college, get _married_ \- as much as that isn’t possible- if I’m not _this_ person. I’m not even _real_. I’d be letting them win if I just walked around in a shell of myself.” I explained, taking Ryan’s hands to stop them from shaking.

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Ryan’s voice shook as he spoke. “Promise me you’ve thought this through. Because once Spencer walks through that door it’s all going to end.”

“I know.” I sighed, running one hand through my hair. “But I have to tell him.”

“Fuck, Brendon.” Ryan muttered, dropping my other hand and wrapping his arms around me. “What the fuck were we thinking.”

“Borrowed time is a nice allusion, isn’t it?” I laughed, resting my head on Ryan’s shoulder. He nodded and leaned his head against mine, rubbing my back slowly. “Makes you feel pretty damn invincible.”

I was in the middle of laughing at the situation we both seemed to dig ourselves into- my incoming capture and Ryan’s reemerging past that was dying with every passing second- when Ryan suddenly went stiff. I felt all his muscle tense as if something startled him, his hands freezing and pressing more tightly into my back. I lifted my head, trying to look at his face to already find him staring at me. I could see the same words forming on his lips that I abandoned the night earlier. I wasn’t ready to hear them; neither of us were, but they were true and just as terrifying.

“Fuck, Brendon…. I love you.” Ryan breathed, his eyes wide and voice shaking. “I love you.”

“I- I love you.” I wasn’t supposed to say it back, committing us both to the denouement sinking us both.

It felt like the entire Earth fell silent in the breaths following our exchange. I heard only white noise as the space around us came to a sudden and screeching halt. No one had ever said that to me before. Never in this body- not in any. This body had been stripped down to its bare parts, used, misused, slept on, crammed into spaces too small, and never had it hear those words. And it wasn’t until Ryan saw the me that was being chased and immortalized that he wanted to say it. Wanted to say it to _that_ boy. The one that was just a convenience before to so many others.

He parted his lips to speak, but no words ever left them. He closed the space between our mouths instead and kissed me with enough intensity to cause me to grab Ryan’s shirt as some kind of anchor. Our breathing was already uneven and rushed, the truth coming too quickly and knocking us down. Ryan’s hands splayed across my lower back and I leaned up into his body, my hands gripping his shirt tightly. My legs felt uneasy in a way I had never experience, my knees giving slightly as I pressed against Ryan. We didn’t seem to realize our lips could separate, both of us almost starting to speak but instead just making quiet hums into the mouth of the other. It turned into our own language, existing only in our extended moment, soon to disappear the minute we used real words and recognized the real world. So we didn’t.

My hands released Ryan’s shirt and pressed against his chest, but never pushing him away. Upon some forced instinct, I remembered the routine I went through each time Marc wanted to kiss me, changing things from having intimacy to just wanting to escalate things to his own personal checkpoints. I fought to remain in my moment with Ryan. Nothing else existed or continued to exist except us. I could feel Ryan’s heartbeat against my hand, fast and hard. I wondered if he could feel mine, uneasy and palpitating beneath my ribs. Ryan pressed his hands more firmly against my back, pushing us together, my back arching my chest up into his. My hands slipped over his shoulders to rest on his back and let our chests lay flush each other; he could definitely feel it. It was pounding in my ears, nearly overpowering the quiet sounds Ryan was making, speaking with me without words.

Finally, Ryan’s jaw dropped lower and I assumed he was going to speak, but instead I felt the swipe of his tongue across my bottom lip. It was fast, just enough where I could still feel the sensation ripple across the skin the moments after he disappeared. He made a quiet noise, his mouth remaining almost awkwardly closed and tight-jawed; he was asking. I just nodded and grabbed the sides of Ryan’s face, letting my jaw relax. Ryan’s tongue brushed against my lip again, this time far less shy. My chest grew tight and something in my stomach twisted and began to grow warm as Ryan’s tongue brushed against mine. The warmth spread upward and I could almost feel it in my heart, its pace racing faster and pulse growing stronger; I was sure Ryan could feel it in my fingertips. The feeling was familiar, but had never been this intense. I felt like I was losing track of time, track of my own thoughts, forgetting what I was even doing- every movement following some other agenda. I was doing what _I_ thought felt right, not what someone told me. Could I handle that much control? I had never done so before.

I broke away and let my forehead rest against Ryan’s as I struggled to catch my breath. I was panting against Ryan’s lips, the two of us barely able to keep them apart. We had to use real words. As much as we were in-sync, it wasn’t fair to assume Ryan could completely read my mind.

“What?” Ryan asked, his hands running up and down my back. I arched into him involuntarily again. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sighed, trying to remember what it was I thought I wanted to say. “I just…”

“What. What is it?” Ryan was patient, but his voice was urgent, both of us under a spell other than our own minds. “Talk to me, Brendon.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” I muttered, chasing Ryan’s lips that were moving far too quickly. I made sure to break away before either of us forgot how to use words; even with our lips separated the skill was fading fast. “I have no clue.”

“Okay…” Ryan’s tone sobered. “That’s okay. We can-”

“But I don’t know if that means I want to stop.” I continued, kissing him again. This time it was Ryan that pulled away, his eyes pressing closed as he tried to focus on his words.

“Don’t do this if you aren’t sure.” Ryan told me. “Because I only want to if you are just as into it.” We both were omitting what it was we were really doing; dancing around the fact that I was mentally counting how many buttons Ryan’s shirt had and his fingers continued to graze the hem of my shirt. This was the longest precursor to being naked I had ever experienced and it was a process I was unsure how to follow. I was clueless but not unsure.

“What are we doing?” I asked, pushing hair back behind Ryan’s ear. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” Ryan echoed, his voice catching on the way I twisted my tone higher and softer- I did know _some_ things. “I-I’m kissing you. And I would like to keep doing that until we both don’t know how to talk with only one set of lips.” His lips grazed mine, allowing us another second of free speech. “Is that okay? Would you like that?”

I responded with a nod and hum before kissing him again, our bodies pushing against each other and creating an unknown equilibrium where neither of us seemed to really move as Ryan took a step backwards. I let my tongue swipe across his lip, testing the waters I had never learned to swim in and was greeted with a noise I didn’t understand; it wasn’t in our vocabulary. Ryan did the same back and we met in the middle suddenly, the sensation making me gasp and freeze in Ryan’s arms. He continued to move, getting me through the initial shock, repeating that same senseless sound I didn’t understand. Each time Ryan seemed to breath he repeated it, his chest falling and the sound rising out of the collapse. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to response, but Ryan didn’t seem to be frustrated by my silence. He kept walking us backwards and away from the front door. His legs bumped into the back of the couch and our balance was shaken, both of us breaking away to look down at it.

I had been asked with a lot less what to do and was the first to sit down on the couch, regripping Ryan’s shirt and pulling him down onto the seat beside me. He placed one arm out to brace himself on the armrest behind me and the other to hold onto the back of the couch as we leaned backward.

“Brendon…” Ryan broke our kiss again and pulled far enough away to look at me. My flushed face, my wide-eyes, my crooked glasses, my swollen lips, my heaving chest, my shirt that was slowly creeping up to reveal my stomach. “Look at you.” He shifted and sat further upright and, without noticing, I did the same. “Look at you… Look.” He held my face in both of his hands, his fingers playing with the brown hair by my ears. His eyes were lost staring at my hair; it was possibly the hardest truth to accept, finally seeing me how everyone else did. And yet, he was somehow in love with all of it. “You are so beautiful, Brendon.”

“There are other ways to flatter me.” I breathed with soft laughter. The affection made me feel uncomfortable; I preferred to stay with what I knew in terms of ‘flattery’.

“So beautiful.” Ryan repeated, kissing me again and pressing my back against the armrest. “My beautiful boy.”

“Uh-huh.” I sighed, a little whine escaping from the back of my throat as I exhaled; it echoed Ryan’s. It was involuntary and meaningless to us both, but it seemed to say more than we were before.

Ryan’s hand began pulling on the hem of my shirt as he situated himself to be sitting with one leg on either side of my own. I had no buttons; for the shirt to come off, we’d both have to be apart. Neither of us seemed to want to acknowledge the reality and Ryan continued to pull on the fabric as I twisted and attempted to snake out of it. Ryan’s hand brushed against my lower stomach, the heat boiling inside surely burning him. My entire body was thrumming with heat and electricity as Ryan pushed my shirt up. His hands splayed out over me. His fingers feeling the skin he had never seen before, tracing it like he would patterns on my hand. I felt embarrassed as Ryan eventually stopped kissing me to look down at me. His eyes fixated on the new skin, his hands pushing the shirt up higher as his hands ran up my chest. Ryan’s hands ran back down to my stomach, his fingers hooking on my pants. I felt my face turn bright red as Ryan’s eyes dropped from my bare torso to now notice how hard I was in my jeans. Marc never used to notice nor ask- he just assumed- so for Ryan to stop and notice, his one eyebrow lifting as he looked up at me, was the most attention I had ever gotten in the matter. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to feel anything other than embarrassment. Even if I didn’t need eyes to know Ryan was the same way, there was an undeniable focus and surprise directed at me I had never experienced.

I blinked quickly as I tried to hide my head in my shoulder. “I know.”

“Why are you saying it like that?” Ryan laughed, sitting back on his heels. His one hand still resting its fingers on my lower stomach, still tracing light patterns on the skin. “Don’t feel embarrassed.”

“You are kind of just staring at me.” I muttered, lifting a hand to cover my face.

“I told you.” Ryan said, tugging at my wrist. “I can’t help but look at you.” I let my hand fall to the side, allowing me to look at Ryan fully again. His iris was almost entirely absorbed by his pupils as he stared at me. His lips were parted as he breathed quickly, both of us out of breath. The top button of his shirt was open, showing the growing red flush spreading up to his neck. My hands slowly lifted and began to twist the next button.

“I can’t either.” I undid each button slowly, less for the effect and more so Ryan had time to stop me if he suddenly felt the need to hide his body away. His sternum poked against his skin as I passed the fourth button, the sixth button slowly showing me the ridged valley of his ribs, the last button letting my see the protruding hipbones that kept his jeans up.

“I’m nothing good to look at.” Ryan muttered as my hands rested against the warm skin stretching across his chest. I shook my head to disagree and tugged on the shirt tails, sliding it down his arms and off entirely. “Still working on it.” He said, running his own hands over his ribs and feeling his sides.

“I love it.” I used the moment to pull my own shirt up and over my head, letting it fall from my fingers and onto the floor.

“You still okay with this?” Ryan asked, leaning back over me, both of us sliding down on the couch. “Tell me whenever you aren’t okay.”

“I will I will.” I muttered, pressing my body up against his.

The contact with other bare skin was something I forgot; it was like placing your hand directly against a hot stove top, but never learning that it hurt. It tingled and burned and seared your skin, but it wasn’t enough to pull away. Ryan leaned down and let his chest rest against mine, our hearts trying to beat against each other through our ribs. My hands splayed out over his back and held him as close as I could get him. Slowly, a rhythm started to grow out of nowhere. We started to rock up against one another, Ryan’s thigh causing just enough friction to cause my mouth to slowly stopped moving with Ryan’s and instead hang open. Ryan left me to gasp shortly and kissed the side of my neck, his leg pressed up harder against me.

“Tell me what feels good.” Ryan whispered into my collar bone, his breathing leave a ghostly chill across my skin.

“A-All.” I said brokenly, my fingers beginning to push into his skin. In all my time with Marc, never had he really paid explicit attention to _me_ , it was mostly how quickly he wanted to come and in what way. But Ryan wasn’t asking me to do _anything_. He was letting me slowly slip away. This was what it was all supposed to feel like.

“Yeah?” Ryan laughed quietly, kissing across my chest to the other side of my neck. “All of it?”

“Yeah.” My mouth was unable to fully close to commit to the word, but Ryan somehow still understood, our wordless communication carrying out. “Yeah. That. All.” He slipped one hand down my side, his thumb tracing the curve, before resting on my hip. It slowly slipped between us to fiddle with the button on my jeans. On his way to the button, his fingers traced over my length lightly and I dug my fingers further into his back, my mouth dropping open completely. Ryan abandoned the button in favor of wrapping his hand around the outline in my jeans.

“Never had somebody make you feel good?” Ryan’s question was rhetorical, I was sure, but I shook my head- I wasn’t speaking English at that point anyway.

I wanted him to know. I wasn’t going to lie about how Marc left me feeling. And I wasn’t going to lie about how he was making me feel now. I could feel churning waves forming in my stomach, my chest tightening and eyes losing focus on Ryan’s face. Everything was spinning and the disorientation was blissful- if only for a moment.

“No. No. No.” I had meant to answer Ryan’s question a second time, but was suddenly struck with the realization of where I was headed- quickly and without any stop in sight. Ryan hand had slipped back to the button, but only so he could continue to make me speechless with far more effectiveness. I quickly shoved my hands down to push his fingers away. “No… No wait-”

“What, Brendon?” Ryan asked, brushing my hair out of my face and letting both arms bracket my head. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I can’t.” I tried to move my hips away from Ryan but my upward motion only made it worse, both of us starting to groan quiet as we rutted against each other. “I can’t….” My words were getting stuck in my throat as my breath began to get choked off. I wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with the way my eyes were suddenly feeling wet and cheeks growing flushed.

“Why not?” Ryan continued to pet my hair as I shook my head, trying to get my point across.

“I can’t.” I repeated. This wasn’t the right order. “I can’t…. Not first.”

“It’s okay.” Ryan cooed, kissing the edges of my mouth. “You can.”

“No… I’m not supposed to.” I repeated, having no other words ready to explain myself. I had never been the center of attention and now I was begin pulled into oblivion, head first and I didn’t know how it was going to feel having an endless amount of time and space to fall.

“No, it’s okay. Brendon, it’s okay.” Ryan was also beginning to ramble, his head hanging, forehead resting on my shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Ry, I don’t- _God_ \- I don’t know.” I panted, gripping his back tightly. I could feel the white slowly starting to form behind my eyes, it was slow and building its own speed instead of being pushed along. I didn’t know how high the wave could reach before it crashed over me.

“It’s okay, Brendon. It’s okay…” Ryan sighed, whining as my legs suddenly tensed and lifted off the couch, my thigh shifting and causing a longer motion of friction than he was expecting. “You can. You can. You can.”

“Ryan…” I leaned my head against his as I slowly felt the warmth in my stomach sink lower and lower, the wave growing higher and higher, pushing against some lower part of my stomach until eventually cresting and falling over me. “Shit shit _shit_.” I gasped, my entire body freezing and muscles tensing. The world jolted and my lungs tightening into knots as my hands curled into fists.

“It’s okay… So good. Look at you.” Ryan had lifted his head to look at me, not that I could see anything other than the general outline of his hair as my eyes rolled back and my head fell back. My body jerked and gave a conflicting and alternating rhythm to Ryan’s. “So beautiful.”

I was dizzy and breathless and could feel my muscles begin to lose their tension, even my bones seeming to melt, as Ryan started to mutter quietly to me. He rested his head back on my shoulder, his voice hoarse and breaking as he panted. I turned my head and kissed his cheek as his hips began to try to outrun themselves 

“God, _God_ … Oh shit. Brendon… Fuck. Yeah?” I could feel his hot breath on my shoulder as he tried to take a steady breath. I kissed him again and tried to give wordless assurance for whatever tension was growing in his voice. His hand tangled in my hair suddenly, his fingers gripping it tightly. “ _fuckfuckfuckfuck_.” Ryan cried, his entire body arching into mine as he continued to rock his hips back and forth slow slow slower against me. “F-Fuck.”

Ryan kept his arms tense and didn’t drop down onto me as he started to breath normally again. He hovered over me, our chest touching only as we breathed, the skin slightly slick from sweat. I shifted myself slowly, careful not to move myself too much. Neither of us had unbuttoned our pants and were horribly embarrassing messes.

“Fuck.” Ryan said again, his vocabulary limited to only a particular subject.

“How long until your brain resets and regains the use of language?” I teased, my hand running up the length of his back slowly. 

“One more minute.” Ryan laughed, taking a slow breath in. “How are you?”

“Still fine.” I told him, slowly sitting back up. Ryan leaned back on his heels and shifted his waistband uncomfortably.

“Thank god I do the laundry in this house.” Ryan muttered, looking between the two of us. “Spencer would not be subtle or kind about this.”

“What does that mean?” I could feel the world beginning to pick up speed, the consequences hurtling toward us faster than either of us were prepared for.

“It means that Spencer and I have been friends since we were five and he likes to make fun of me.” Ryan laughed, moving one leg around so it hung over the edge of the couch. “Especially about stuff like this.”

“Think he’ll care?” I asked, placing one hand on my chest and mindlessly trying to cover the bare skin I was suddenly hyperaware of.

“No.” Ryan laughed. “Not at all.” Ryan stood and leaned down to grab his shirt. “He’ll just want to embarrass us for a good four days.”

“I look forward to it.” I muttered, thinking of all that has happened in the last few days and what the world could possibly hand to us in the next four. Would I even have that long with Ryan? We were both assuming that after one look at me Spencer would not notice who I was. We were both acting like we were still in our own bubble, the world barely spinning around us.

Ryan walked to the bathroom, shoulders held back and calm, like he wasn’t thinking about the way my life was seconds from shattering. We were both doomed. Me standing clueless with my consequences rushing up behind me, ghosts with rope in their hands, sizing up my neck. Ryan never leaving his post, hand pressed over the grenade that rolled up to his feet, dangerous and unstable, but safe as long as it wasn’t jostled. There was an earthquake coming, but none of us knew it. We just hoped we could continue to lie a little longer; lie to Spencer, lie to ourselves, lie next to each other.

I stood as Ryan reached the bathroom, grabbing my shirt before walking to my room. Ryan hovered in the doorway as I walked past him and winked at me. I wished I had put my shirt on to hide the red blush that began to spread across my chest and climb up my neck. I ducked my head and kept walking, reaching for my door as calmly as I could. I heard the bathroom door close for only a second before it opened back up quickly.

“ _Hey_ _Brendon_.”

“Yeah?”

“Why is there a box of open condoms on the sink counter?”

_Shit_. “Celia.” I called, wincing at my own stupidity. “She gave them to me with the hair dye. She also says hello.”

“Okay…” Ryan muttered. “But… But, I mean, curious as I am- why is it opened?”

“Uh.”

I had no good answer. I was _confused_. Not curious- which could be played off as the naïve, cute virgin act- I was confused. Hand in the hair, glasses off and eyes squinting, red-in-the-face _confused_. Because I came from a family that didn’t believe in teaching their children about sex; everything I learned was from a bias source that discussed mechanics only and left me to feel foreign to my own body and mind. Because I was still just as much of a confused and frightened Mormon as the one that was walking down the side of the highway on his way to his first brush with death because he had never stepped outside of his town’s bubble before. I was still the same, but now I was letting Ryan in to see me for who I really was.

“Were you _looking_?” Ryan asked, stepping out of the bathroom to have the conversation face-to-face with me. Ryan couldn’t just let me sit in shame in private. He stood in my doorway, still shirtless and smirk hidden behind a furrowed look. “Did we have different plans for the morning, Brendon?” I had to convince myself he hadn’t said _Brandon_. I had to remind myself that he wasn’t being serious. 

“No. No, I was just… Nothing.” I denied, quickly pulling my shirt over my head and turning to dig through my drawers for new clothes.

“Brendon, I was just kidding.” Ryan said without laughter. “I’m just curious, that’s all.” He stated calmly, staying by the door.

“So was I.” I admitted, finding a new pair of jeans and throwing them on the bed behind me.

“You can just say that.” Ryan told me, his tone quiet as he leaned against the doorframe. “I didn’t mean anything by it… I just… Well, honestly, I didn’t expect to see them in the bathroom. That’s all. I was a little surprised.”

“So was I.” I repeated. “I’ve never really _seen_ one before.” Ryan’s eyes widened and I quickly waved my hands out to correct my sentence. “Never really held one in _my_ _own two hands_.”

“Took me awhile too.” Ryan confessed, scrunching his face up to convey his awkwardness. “It’s okay. We all learn at different rates.” He was about to leave it at that, turning away from the doorframe and heading back towards the bathroom. He wasn’t going to lecture me about it or comment on the implications of my curiosity and confusion. Wasn’t going to take our actions carry over into anything else. He was just going to let me be. But that is how secrets started. That’s how you are able to layer lies.

Out of habit though, I let it go. I let Ryan think I was just a slow learner, not kept in the dark. I’d explain it sooner or later. I still had some guilt to work through, some ghosts to forget while others possessed me. Although, as I peeled my jeans off, I felt a knot form in my stomach, slowly sinking to my feet. The movement was suddenly muscle memory as I undressed myself to hide evidence of my morning. My skin crawled and every time I blinked I swore I would be waking up in a car that caused a wave of chills every time it passed me or pulled up to my house.

The moving of denim sounded like that of when I would hurry to leave Marc’s room, his parents suddenly home and Marc lying lazily on his bed, head still on the clouds while I was still awkwardly half hard in jeans that weren’t mine. The secrets moments I would hit myself in the side with my fist, hoping to give me enough of a negative association with the sensation of being turned on alone- even if there was another person in the room. The times Marc would leave me still on edge because he was finished and wanted to get to sleep since he had been out late the night before. The times I cried in his bathroom not knowing what to do with myself since part of my brain still thought this was dirty; with another person was one thing, with your own thoughts was horrible and impure and disgusting and made me an abomination. The first time I was with Marc and asked him why I was a little dizzy and felt like all my bones were melting and he laughed, amused that I didn’t know what ‘getting off’ felt like. The patterns I noticed where Marc took care of himself first because I was always nervous and unsure of what was happening to my own body because it was a secondary concern, even to my own brain.

I let my jeans fall and pool around my feet, as I stepped out of them quickly, kicking them away. In the other room, I could hear the shower running. I thought of Ryan, probably quietly washing his hair and standing under the water, perfectly content and fine with making both me and himself come without either of us really knowing that _that_ was where our morning was heading. It was normal to him, it wasn’t a big deal. Ryan could function moving in and out of sexual relationships with skill and ease. He was _fine_ and I was the one who was standing in their locked room, hand over their mouth, making sure they didn’t throw up as shame tried to condense my stomach to the size of a pea. I wasn’t as good at it as Ryan. I hadn’t let Marc go. He still hung around my shoulders, breathing on my neck and speaking directly into my ear. With him, I had to clear my head just for it to feel good, and I was fighting every instinct to let my brain go blank and lead me mindlessly around the house. I could think, I could feel- that was all okay. Ryan let me think, he let me be present and active and myself. Ryan let me be confused.

I did what I could to clean myself up and change into different clothes, pulling a large sweatshirt that had the name of some local community college I didn’t know printed on it. I just wanted the extra fabric, not the fashion. I pulled a pair of pajama pants on and shuffled out to the living room, flopping onto the couch just as I heard Spencer’s bedroom door close. I sat with my feet folded up on the couch, hands resting in my lap and eyes staring at the thumb nail I was picking.

I didn’t have to be mindless, but I was slowly losing the battle. I had a certain pattern instilled into me from Marc. I had shame and I had uncertainty built into my main form of thought, and I didn’t know how to think through it. I only kept thinking further into it. How was it that I was no longer a virgin but somehow more clueless than I was still sitting in those bleachers at my high school’s homecoming game.

“Back in pajamas already?” I hadn’t heard the door open again and quickly looked up to see Ryan walking out of Spencer’s room in a plain gray t-shirt and plain worn jeans.

“Yeah.” I nodded, pulling my sleeves over my hands as the nail began to bleed. “Wanted to be comfortable.”

“Understood.” Ryan nodded, walking through the living room to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I still haven’t fed you.”

The thought of eating made my throat feel thick and taste bitter. “No. I’m okay.”

“You sure? I’m starving.” Ryan laughed, plates clanging together as he rearranged the kitchen setup and undid his first breakfast plan.

“Positive.” I assured him, leaning back against the couch. “Not hungry.”

“Okay.” Ryan shrugged, walking out of the kitchen again with a bowl and spoon. “I just don’t understand how you aren’t.” He walked over and sat down next to me, the smell of his cereal almost revolting. I tried to hide my expression but avoidance gave me away anyway. “You don’t look okay…”

“I am.” I lied, almost adding Marc to the end of my sentence. Instead I grinned, keeping my teeth forcefully pressed together and clamped shut.

“Okay.” Ryan accepted my lie only because he had no grounds to disagree.

His nodding lead us both to silence, awkward and tense. It was familiar and I felt the space around me press down and try to sink me into the couch. I rolled my shoulders, breaking free of the pressure. But it was no use, I was still stuck, sitting on Marc’s bed, eyes lost staring across the room as my mind suddenly came back to me, everything having been numb and cold before. I was stuck hearing him tell me to get my shit and leave before someone came home, to stop acting so fucking _new_ and hurry up and recover, to stop trying to make things something they weren’t. Finally, after months of sitting with the weight sitting in my stomach heavy and furious, it was rising. Rising in my throat and rattling around in my head. My lip quivered and eyes began to sting as I could start to feel my hands grow numb in my warm sleeves.

“Brendon?” I blinked myself back into my own headspace and turned to him. “You have a thousand-mile stare going… You sure everything is okay?” He lifted a spoonful of cereal to his mouth to disguise his worried expression.

“Yeah.” I nodded, sighing and trying to sound less like I was lying and more like I was working on it becoming the truth. Much like what I was doing every day. “I just feel a little weird.”

“About…?” Ryan placed his bowl on the coffee table as he immediately pinpointed the subject. “I’m sorry if-”

“It’s not you.” I clarified, waving away Ryan’s apology. “I just… I really don’t know how to feel right now.” There was a numbness haunting me and a buzzing in my body that still hadn’t subsided from earlier battling one another.

“Feel about what?” Ryan asked. “You are allowed to just feel… well, feel _good_ about it if you want, Brendon.”

“But I’ve never had that.” I rebutted. “I always felt guilty… And now… And now I don’t.” The realization struck me slowly. I was trying to make myself feel the way I was _told_ to feel, without actually letting my brain naturally respond to the situation. I was trying to ruin it for myself. Marc had done it enough that that was how I thought it was meant to be ‘enjoyed’. “And now I don’t know how to process it.”

“Sometimes feeling content is the hardest thing to let yourself do.” Ryan laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and resting his cheek on the top of my head as I leaned into him.

“Why is it you are always the wise one?” I laughed, poking his leg.

“It’s those extra three years.” He teased. “The extra laps around the sun _really_ open your mind.” He reached up and pet my hair, pulling it back from my forehead and kissing my temple.

“I’m sure.” I agreed, turning so I could lay down, resting my head on Ryan’s thigh. “It’s what’s turned you into the genius we all know and love.”

“Hey, if Ginger ever asks why I never went to college I can just tell her I am waiting to be wiser.” Ryan joked, playing with my hair again.

He seemed fascinated by its new color. It was the biggest change, but nothing was different. Not for me at least. For everyone else, it was the last thread of the costume to give before it fell to the side. I wasn’t even trying to be the boy that was on the run. I was Brendon, just relocated without the permission or consent of anyone other than myself. I had every embarrassing and naïve moment from Summerlin following behind me, but this time it was strangely liberating. They weren’t shameful anymore; I had grown up with them but now I was there, with Ryan, living a completely different life. All at my own free will.

“This color looks really nice on you.” Ryan said, carding his fingers through my bang.

“Well, it is my natural color. It’s supposed to look nice on me.” I shrugged, bending my knees up and placing my feet on the couch.

“I’ve only seen it in printed pictures.” Ryan teased, tugging on it. “It looks better in person.”

“You made that very clear.” I made sure to remove all subtlety from my voice. Ryan began to laugh and I felt Brendon become closer to Ryan. I felt the same jitters from sitting next to Daniel in Spanish class or Brittany in Geometry; I echoed the nervous laughter that would escape from my lips when I went to casually laugh at one of Marc’s jokes; I tried to stop the pang of my heart against my chest from a simple brush of the hand. I instantly felt like I had known Ryan my entire life. I also knew I couldn’t live any part of my life without him.

Maybe this was what having both felt like.

Ryan went back to eating his cereal, placing the bowl on my chest and taking small handfuls, placing a Cheerio or two on my forehead and nose- just for good measure. I pretended to be mad until Ryan attempted to kiss the frown off my face. We stayed on the couch for the rest of the morning, neither of us having the energy or motive to go to a different room to watch television or even stand to turn on the record player. Ryan eventually, poked my shoulder and shifted my head off his leg and onto the couch.

“Where are you going?” I asked, sitting up.

“I have work in a little bit.” Ryan said, stretching his arm above his head. “Get to work the afternoon _and_ nightshift.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” I said flatly. I suddenly had to face Spencer all on my own.

“When should I have done that? When my hand was almost in your pants and you were completely speechless.”

“Point taken.” I sighed, swallowing the waver trying to break my voice. “Didn’t know I’d be by myself.”

“I’ll be back around midnight.” Ryan said. “It’s only a ten-hour shift… Standing there, listening to washing machines.”

“I would come with you if I could.”

Ryan laughed and held back his first immediate response. I glared and waited for his next sentence. “I would actually prefer if you didn’t; my boss always comes in the collect money and close up for the night shift. It wouldn’t be a great idea to have you be around him.”

“Right. Not a fan of gay people.”

“Not in the slightest. And I don’t know how to treat you platonically.” Ryan laughed. “I don’t think I’ve been able to do it since we met; you better stay home.”

I couldn’t hide with Ryan. I had to face Spencer and the real world all on my own. That other half of the world was still after me, still something Ryan could only attempt to protect me from. Maybe that’s why he was laying over the grenade in the first place; he didn’t know I was just as dangerous. It was my defense system. I began to wonder what Dallon did when he decided to be honest with his church; when he decided _against_ hiding. I couldn’t see him being scared or worried about their reactions. I couldn’t imagine his damage. He had no people responsible, no casualties.

I put Ryan’s bowl in the kitchen sink as he went for his typical work shirt and coat. Typically, it was me who was told to leave right after, but now it was him that was leaving me.

“Hey, Brendon,” Ryan called, walking towards me, voice muffled by the shirt being pulled over his head.

“What.” I walked out of the kitchen just to see Ryan’s face reemerge above the collar of his shirt. He was grinning as he combed his fingers through his hair, walking toward me.

“Remember that time I told you I loved you.” He asked.

“Yes.” I blinked, the sentence still shocking me. “Hard to forget.”

“Well, I just wanted to tell you again.” Ryan said quietly, his cheeks going red. “I love you.” He kissed my cheek quickly before sliding on his coat.

“Love you too.” I repeated, hating that now it was acting as a goodbye of sorts. It was already normal. We were doomed. “Have a nice time at work.”

“I won’t. But I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.” Ryan sighed, placing a hand over his heart and looking off into space and crossing his eyes.

“You sound like Spencer.” I laughed, shoving him towards the door. “ _Never_ do that.”

“Why? Don’t want to date the most insanely positive man to ever walk the Earth?”

“No.” I replied, shaking my head quickly. “I prefer you… Who are definitely not positive. At least not consistently.” I continued to push Ryan lightly toward the door, my hands resting on his lower back. “Go to work. I’ll be here when you get back. Be safe.”

“I will. I won’t talk to any strangers.” Ryan laughed, kissing my cheek again. “Call work if you need anything.”

“Bye.” I said, closing the door behind him.

Ryan’s laughter and footsteps echoed into the apartment, slowly fading away and leaving me alone by the door, hand still on the frame. Being alone in the apartment wasn’t horribly unusual or strange for me, but now I felt like I used to, being left alone in my old house, all my siblings out and parent not yet home. Those few moments of freedom, being able to wander around the house in a way that you typically were questioned for; circling the living room or stopping on the stairs to stare at the family pictures for a longer nostalgic minute than usual or even just sitting in a room with nothing to do but think and remain undisturbed. The latter was a dangerous option, but I couldn’t help but allow my mind to go to all the places that I had been trying to juggle in between talking to Ryan and Spencer and having to remain embedded in their conversation and not the one in my own head.

I found my way into my room, mostly by accident, sitting on the bed and letting my head rest on the pillows as I stared up at the ceiling. My first thought was Spencer. Spencer coming home to _everything_. Ryan’s father’s chair- well, lack thereof- still hadn’t been noticed, my hair was going to be, and I was sure Spencer would be able to read this morning’s events on my face the minute I looked at Ryan. I still wasn’t through it all. The pace of the past three days had been ridiculous and unreal and the most I had lived in my entire life. I had never seen a life like this. Not only mine, but Ryan’s and Spencer’s. I had never seen a life so busy and steady, so emotionally draining and trying, so comforting and beautiful. The days were complex and I felt clueless to the new day, but still eager to see what this life had for me. It was only just beginning. I was learning things I hadn’t even _known_ were being kept from me, I was experiencing the full range of a ‘real’ relationship without a single ounce of regret, and I was letting every moment I had lived before follow closely behind me. I hated some of those ghosts and wanted them to disappear again, just like I had, but knew that I had to keep them if I wanted to truly start over with Brendon. I’d have to start being honest _some time_. But this time, I was going to let my hair do all the truth spilling, not me. If anything, keeping my mouth shut would be the best thing.

Even when I began to tell Ryan the truth, it was in small doses, careful not to jostle Ryan’s image of me too much before introducing him to the real version- whoever that was. I knew I had to take the same precautions with Spencer. Ryan understood the things I hid from him before I even revealed them, having gone through them himself. But Spencer didn’t have that. Spencer didn’t even know about some things that were similar between Ryan and I. If I came clean, would that accidentally out those things Ryan confided in his notebooks instead of Spencer? Would our secrets and understandings be more of a shock than where I actually came from? Nothing would shock Spencer more than dropping the floor out from underneath of him and letting him suffer from the consequences of his descent into my spiraling lies.

Or maybe Spencer could walk away from the blast? He could move in with Linda, start over, disconnect his path from mine before it plummeted downward- a place that Spencer was never cut out to go. It was a final act of repaying my debt, letting Spencer go. And maybe I could get Ryan far enough away to protect him as well. Maybe, for once, I could protect him.

I selfishly rejected the idea. I was going to wreck everything in my path as I thoroughly destroyed myself first, from the inside out and then onward. The ripples from the blast of my face being recognized the first time, the shockwaves from their gasps would knock Ryan off his feet as every finger pointed at him and every hand grabbed me. The force from the first hug of my mother would be an attempt to press all my pieces all together, even though there was a piece missing in her that I just wasn’t meant to fill. In being gone, I was allowing everyone to heal, to find cover, but now that I was back to the face that everyone knew, I was going to tear it all down and make them face the facts. I wasn’t kidnapped. I ran, and I only wanted to return so I could move away again without being chased. I could walk out of their lives cleanly, knowing that now we were all under the same understanding. To have every introduction be able to go the same was all I could ask for. To stand in front of my family, my church, my neighbors, my friends from high school, and be able to say everything that I felt buzzing inside me when I felt God’s eyes look away from me; when I took my first steps as Brendon, standing right beside Ryan; when I kissed the first boy who ever told me he loved me; when I realized that I could have it all without any shame. To tell everyone the truth and not have a single word cut off or kept suspended in my throat by a firm hand.

_Maybe your baby boy is the biggest fag._

It was all in reach. I could have both. Dallon was right this whole time. I just had to find my own two sides, and bring them together. Introduce the Mormon that was raised strictly and fearful of God’s wrath to the man that was everything my childhood self would have feared. It was only a matter of time.

I turned over onto my side and shifted my gaze to the dresser to Ryan’s book still sitting on the tabletop. His things were already slowly moving into this room. The two sides becoming one. The one room becoming ours. We were in love- as fucking _weird_ as that was to admit to myself. I loved someone. I had the relationship where you went down together, and that was that. I couldn’t change my life without changing Ryan’s. He was a part of me just as much as I was now a part of him. I decided that maybe, when he returned from the graveyard shift at work, I would tell him he could rest his head and aching legs beside me instead of the couch in the other room. I felt ready. Ready to move on.

Beyond the bedroom door, I began to hear muffled banging. It was coming from the hallway and it took me a second to recognize them as footsteps; someone was _pounding_ up the stairs. I sat up, straining my ears to hear what the cause could be. I moved to the edge as I heard a voice start to call up the stairs. It took a moment to hear the voice clearly, making out their words, but the voice was sharp, wavering as they gasped for breath between sprints, worrying plaguing their sentences.

“BRENDON!” I was up and racing to my bedroom door as I heard my name echo from the hallway. The footsteps were on the last landing to our floor, the voice coming closer. Ryan coming closer. “BRENDON! BRENDON!”

“Ryan?” I answered, running to the front door. “Ryan, what happened?”

“Brendon.” Ryan swung the front door open before I could even touch the handle, nearly being knocked over by it. “Brendon.” He was panting, his eyes wide and footsteps unsteady as he walked closer to me, his arms out and hands trying to grab me by the shoulders.

“What?” I asked, taking in his shaken state. “Ryan, you are scaring me.”

“Brendon.” Ryan breathed, his hands gripping my shoulders. “Dallon found him.”


	5. Eighty-four by Twenty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Down to the last few chapters! Thank you for sticking around and running with Brendon for this long.  
> No warnings for this chapter.

Ryan wasn’t making any sense as he walked towards me, my uncertainty walking me backwards slowly. He could only speak a few words at a time but none of them made sense to me.

“They found him.” Ryan repeated, his hands finally landing on my shoulders, keeping me in place. “Brendon. They found him.”

“What? _Who_?”

“Turn the TV on.” Ryan replied, shaking his head and pushing me towards Spencer’s bedroom. “Turn it on. Turn it on _now_!”

“Ryan, what’s happening?” I cried, stumbling backwards and nearly falling through the doorway. I regained my balance and watched Ryan as his hands fiddled with the dials, causing the screen to flash with light and come alive. We didn’t know what channel it was on to start with; there was a flashing banner across the bottom for a breaking news segment overriding the show. “What is this?”

“Brendon.” Ryan repeated, not looking at me but instead of the words flashing before us. The light reflected on his face and showed the fear carving wrinkles on his forehead. “Shit.” I turned my attention to the TV slowly, reaching over and grabbing Ryan’s shaking hands. He had been fine a literal _minute_ ago; I had no idea what could have rattled him so quickly.

“Ryan?”

“No. Shh.” He pointed at the screen and I eased my attention to the droning voice to listen.

“-we are getting information in as we report, but the missing boy from Summerlin _has_ been found only hours ago.”

“What.” I blinked quickly and stepped closer to the TV. I must’ve heard that incorrectly. The sound must have skewed from the TV to my ears _somehow_. It must’ve been a joke. “They found… _Me_?”

“Dallon did.” Ryan’s voice was distant and shocked. He pointed at the TV again as I tried to turn toward him. They showed footage of a blocked off stretch of desert, just off the side of the road, with cop cars and police swarming the area. Dallon’s car, parked off to the corner of the screen, was hard to miss. So was his shrinking form sitting against it, head in his hands. Even from the distance, I could see his shaking shoulders. A growing darkness sank in my stomach.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to figure out why the news anchor was so solemn and Dallon was so distraught. “I don’t understand. Who did they find?”

On the screen, two police officers stepped off screen and left the area roped off with yellow caution tape to become the central focus as the news anchor continued to speak. It was a small area of the road, just a square maybe ten feet across, with some _mass_ in the middle. I squinted and removed my glasses, stepping closer to try and see what it was. The camera changed back to the news station before I could see anything clearly. I shrugged and looked at Ryan with confusion, his face falling as I looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t understand-”

“-even as we are reporting, the cause of death is yet to be fully determined, but it is suspected to be a complication due to AIDS.”

“What.” My head whipped back to the television as I heard the segment continue. I was affronted with my senior yearbook photo and many pictures of my family. “Did they just say ‘cause of death’?” I echoed, stepping up to the TV again.

It flashed to a clip of my parents, weeping and harrowed, but I never heard what they said. The entire room went silent, the sound dipping to a low hum as my entire body went numb. They thought I was dead. They found a body- just _a_ body- and they connected enough false dots to assume it was me. I had lied too well; I wasn’t even recognizable in death. They were going to bury me, and then I’d never have a word to say ever again. They were going to silence me. Everything they thought about me was going to remain true as they buried that other boy under _my_ name. They were so worried about letting me go that they would rather steal someone else’s boy, someone else’s _death_ , and make it mine. They were finally going to bury me, but I realized then that I had been dead for far longer. They were never really looking for _me_.

I felt my mouth run dry and stomach twist sharply, a knot rising in my throat. My eyes unfocused and my breathing seemed to stop as I watched the faces of my family blur on and off the screen. They thought I was dead. I could never go back. I was abandoned. I wasn’t even their son. All the past I was trying to carry with me and finally accept was taken from me, soon to be shoved into a coffin and placed underground. They were still controlling me, even after I had left everyone behind. Something in my stomach felt like it was wrapping around itself, my throat suddenly feeling like it was swelling. I tried to take a deep breath, but _couldn’t_. It jammed in my throat, my mouth clamping shut as I felt the sour taste of bile rise in my throat. My hand flew to my mouth as I tried to breathe again, it only coming through my nose desperately. I tried to gasp but only ended up vomiting all over my hand.

“Shit- okay, okay, Brendon.” Ryan cooed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and slowly guiding me out of the room. My feet felt heavy and impossible to move; Ryan had to push me along. The new anchor’s voice droning on as we cowered away. “You’re okay.”

I tried to answer him and disagree, but I still couldn’t speak. My words rose from my lungs only to turn into bile along the way, rising in my throat and tumbling out of my mouth in a far less recognizable way. My words ran down my chin and onto my sweatshirt. I couldn’t stop. I began crying, even without a full breath of air. Tears spilled down my cheeks without even a moment to pool up in my eyes. There was no warning. My entire body was freezing up and I felt like I wasn’t in control of anything. Like I was stuck in a body that was trying to kill itself.

“Shhhh. Shhh, you’re okay. Sit down in the tub. You’re okay.” Ryan’s voice tensed as he repositioned his weight in order to try and lift me up, placing me in the bathtub, trying to contain my destruction. Here it was, my detonation. But the only person being hurt was me. They still had that hold over me. “You’re okay, Brendon. I’m right here. Right here.”

I shook my head but the motion made my head spin and the bathroom lose its sharpness. I quickly took off my glasses and shoved them at Ryan, hoping to stop my vertigo. I just wanted to stop. I was slowly becoming unable to move my arms and my legs were starting to feel like they were being weighed down and pinned to the bottom of the tub. Ryan placed a hand on my back and rubbed small circles between my shoulder blades, the sensation keeping the spreading numbness from enveloping all of me. I let myself lean forward, trying to control the involuntary lurching as I choked and gagged. Finally, as Ryan’s hand stopped and simply rested on my shoulder, I was able to take a strong breath. I gasped and began coughing, my throat stinging and stomach still jostling back and forth, slowly rising in my chest.

“Brendon?” Ryan asked quietly, leaned over to press a kiss into my hair. “Are you okay? Brendon, please say something.”

“I’m dead.” I muttered, my thoughts only swirling around the one fact. “They think I’m dead.”

“I know, Brendon. I know. But that doesn’t mean-”

“I can’t go home.” I breathed, my stomach dropped and the final bit of my body lost all feeling, like I had disconnected from it and was just a train of thought running around behind eyes I could no longer control. “I can’t go home.”

“Why would you?” Ryan asked, trying to keep me grounded; he could see me slowly floating away. I saw his figure move and reach over to the sink, the faucet starting and water splashing into the sink. As it turned off, he came closer to me, his shape coming in more clearly. I could barely focus on his eyes when his hand came up to my face, slowly wiping my chin. I couldn’t even tell if the water was warm or cold. “You don’t have to go back to them ever again. You don’t ever have to-”

“I can’t talk to my mom again.” My eyes burned and my tears were painful as they seemed to be rising from my nose, pouring over as soon as they reached my eyes. “She thinks her son is dead.”

“Oh, Brendon.” Ryan sighed, continuing to wipe the vomit from my face and hands. “I know, I know…. But, if they found that boy and assumed it was you… Brendon, they weren’t really looking to find you in the first place.” Ryan offered only brutal honesty. It was harder to swallow than any of the news, but I had to accept it; they didn’t want to find me alive anyway.

Freedom never felt so horrible.

“Ryan?” I asked, looking at him as he placed my glasses back on my face. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan admitted, looking at me with a quivering lip and furrowed eyebrows. I didn’t expect to see him crying, the effects of the explosion having unfolded right in front of his eyes- his protection having done nothing. “I don’t know what to do, Brendon.” Suddenly, I was taking my first step out my backdoor, hair dyed, and identity carefully left under the bed all over again. I had nowhere to go.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” I said quickly, placing a hand back up to my face.

“No no not again. Please.” Ryan cried, patting my hair down and trying to soothe me. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Ryan wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward him, placing a hand on my head and holding me to his chest. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to my boy. You’re okay." 

I took a deep breath, trying to ward off the tightening in my throat and chest. I used all the energy I had somehow found in me to lift my hand and place it on Ryan’s hand, trying to slip my fingers under his and feel the heartbeat in his fingertips. Ryan grabbed my hand immediately, squeezing my fingers and trying to shake the pins and needles out of them. There was no returning call to the pounding in my chest and ears. I was all alone.

“Ryan.” I whispered, gripping his arm tightly. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Ryan sighed, holding me tighter. “I am too.”

Now I understood why Ryan’s eyes widened and mortification overtook his face as he told me he loved me; he knew he couldn’t go anywhere. He was going to be around the watch everything come crashing down while he couldn’t do a damn thing. He had to be a bystander. And it was all my fault.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Ryan stood and slipped his arms under mine, pulling me to my feet. My knees wobbled and I reached out to braced myself on the wall, my other hand grabbing Ryan’s shirt. I felt like all the blood was puddling in my feet, my body slowly running cold. “That’s it, just hold onto me.” Ryan switched my weight and wrapped an arm around my waist, letting me put one around his shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

I was afraid I was too heavy for Ryan, my entire body limp and dead as I attempted to shuffle alongside Ryan to my bedroom. Ryan eased me down onto the edge of the bed, making sure I would remain upright before digging through my drawers to try and find the heaviest shirt I had; I was shivering and I didn’t know if it was from being cold or going into shock. Ryan gripped a gray sweatshirt in his hands- it had red shapes on it that my eyes couldn’t bother to focus on. He crouched in front of me and patted the sides of my arms.

“Come on, arms up.” He knew he couldn’t lift them up while simultaneously switching my sweatshirts. I had to hold them up myself. I tried, but my bones felt like they were cast in lead, weighed down at my sides. “Brendon, come on, you’ve got to help me out here.”

“I can’t.” I whimpered, feeling stuck again. I was dying. I was dead. My body was just a shell.

“Yes, you can. Come on, Brendon. You can. Just one arm for me.” Ryan tapped my arm again, his hand tracing it from shoulder to wrist, trying to warm it up. To resurrect it. “Please, just one. So, I can help you get out of this shirt- it’s all dirty. Come on. Baby, please.” Ryan had never called me that before. The word slipped out quickly as he sighed, shaking my limp arms with frantic determination. Ryan was begging, panicking as I slowly stopped staring at him to only be looking through him.

It was slowly hitting me. Everything that I was doing was practically invisible. I wasn’t real. I didn’t matter. Ryan had no boyfriend and no third roommate. I was erased from the world with one faulty identification. I really was a stranger to my family. I imagined my father standing over the boy’s body, staring down at his still figure the way he had after nearly taking his last breath from him. I imagined my mother, screaming and begging the boy to wake up, horror striking her still and motionless. She didn’t deserve that.

_God, what had I done._

I let my head dip forward as my hands slowly interlocked in my lap, using all the focus and energy I had. They were supposed to be up higher, resting against my forehead, but it would suffice for the moment; I couldn’t do much better.

“Dear God, I ask you this favor in my time of need,”

“Brendon, what are you doing?” Ryan asked softly, not being able to hear my words clearly. “A-Are you praying?” 

“I don’t know what else to do.” I muttered, closing my eyes, trying to blink away the tears that were clouding my vision.

I was desperate, and even though I had been trying to be overlooked by God, I had no other place to turn. I was alone, stranded, shaking, and losing my vision from the buzzing in my head. I was like a newborn, scrambling to make sense of things, gasping and crying into the world no one had explained and no one ever would. A newborn created from blessed hands and with decided plans; there was only one person I knew I could ask, as much as we were estranged.

“Okay.” Ryan nodded, trying to copy my movements, folding his hands and lifting them to his head. He looked at me from behind his hands before closing his eyes.

“God, please let them be safe. Mom, Mason, Matthew, Kyla, Kara… _Dallon_.” I cleared my throat as the truth of Dallon experiencing death a second time twisted my stomach quickly. “Even Dad. Make sure they all find comfort in my absence. Please let them find peace in each other.” I lowered my voice and leaned forward as far as I could, whispering into my hands. “And God, please protect Spencer.”

“Please.” Ryan echoed. “He didn’t do a fu- didn’t do anything. Keep him safe. And Ginger. You owe her that much.” I heard him clear his throat and move around, breaking the prayer. I closed it quietly and let my hands fall open.

I was sprawled out on my linoleum kitchen floor all over again, begging to be helped and forgotten. I was huddled in my bedroom corner pulling my hair out and screaming for God to forgive me for what I had done- what I was _doing_. I was being yelled at by my parents for that first hickey, something in the back of my mind pleased that they were oblivious, but also feeling guilty for betraying their trust. I was letting myself become my mistakes. I should have stayed.

“Was that okay?” Ryan asked, more uncertain than encouraging. “Better?”

“I don’t know.” I wasn’t feeling much of anything to know what was ‘better’.

“Do you think He heard you?” Ryan was not one to know what to do in the face of religion. I always forgot we were raised in completely different ways; he just always seemed to understand.

“No.” I was too small. Too insignificant now. I had denied him; I was no one to look after.

“Oh.” 

“But I’m hoping he heard you.” If there was one person that God left unattended for far too long, faith in him or not, it was Ryan. There was no test Ryan was passing in order to prove his loyalty to God; he was just suffering. Asking to die should not be a byproduct of existence. But it was all Ryan had left to give. All he had left to pray with. I hoped God was listening.

“I’ve never prayed before.” Ryan admitted, kneeling in front of the bed and rested his hands on my knees. “I’ve never had to.”

My eyes finally refocused on Ryan, tingling forming in my fingers as he grabbed them. My hands curled around Ryan’s and a stiff warmth ran up my arms. I pulled on Ryan’s hands and tried to lift them. He quickly tried to help me the rest of the way, hoisting my arms up over my head. I tried to lock my shoulders and elbows firmly enough to keep them extended as Ryan fumbled with the hem of my sweatshirt, pulling it up and over my head.

“It’s mine, hope you don’t mind.” Ryan said to me, rolling up the sleeves to carefully pull over my arms. “It’s going to be a little big.”

“That’s okay.” I said quietly. My arms began to sink slowly as Ryan slid the sleeves over me. Ryan tried to hold them up with one arm while navigating the collar over my head. I barely noticed that I was partially naked, Ryan’s hands grazing over my back. It didn’t feel like my skin.

“Okay, here we go. All cleaned up.” Ryan sighed, placing my arms back at my sides and tugging the hem of the sweatshirt to rest around my waist. “Okay?” 

I looked down at the sweatshirt slowly, hands loosely grabbing the hem. “This is yours.” I said absently. I recognized the four letters. “You don’t go there.”

“I know.” Ryan nodded slowly, trying to figure out my fascination with the college sweatshirt. I wasn’t sure either, but it was finally growing soft against my skin and lifting the weights from my shoulders. I played with the fabric and tugged on it lightly.

“You should.” I said, my hands picking at the stitching. “You should go to college.” Get out while he still could.

“I have no interest in going to college, Brendon.” Ryan corrected, cocking his head as he brushed my hair back. “You know that.”

“You should go. Get a better job. Better boss.”

“I don’t have the time for college, Brendon.”

“Because of me.” Here it was, the plummet downwards. My grip was vice-like on Ryan and I wanted, more than anything, to be able to let go of him. Part of me hoped he would pull himself from me instead; encourage him to leave first.

“No.” Ryan squeezed my hands and kissed my fingers as he shook his head quickly. “Because I didn’t think I’d live long enough to reap the benefits of having a degree; _not because of you_.”

“But now you and Spencer can’t even go… _I_ can’t even go.” Even my own future education was taken from me, laid to rest and littered with flowers. I’d be stuck hiding in my bedroom, a debt of gratitude piling high with every dollar I couldn’t earn for myself.

“We… We’ll figure something out.” Ryan promised.

“I’m dead, Ryan.” I repeated. I didn’t think he was understanding the point. “All my identifications will be _fake_ after they put me in the ground. I won’t be able to do _anything_. And if I do and they figure it out, they’ll either arrest me for fraud or send me home, Ryan. None of those options are how this was supposed to go. They aren’t supposed to win!”

“They aren’t. They aren’t, Brendon. I promise. They won’t.” Ryan grabbed at my arms and pulled me into him. He was still slightly crouched and I fell into him, my legs still useless. He gripped me and sat on the floor, my legs situating awkwardly around either side of him. “You can go to college- you can do whatever you want. We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it all out. Just, _first_ let’s get you up-”

“Hello? Anyone home?”

“ _Fuck_.” Ryan gasped, his eyes clenching shut as he tried to lift me. “Be right there, Spencer!” Ryan called, bracing on arm on the dresser and the other wrapped around my waist. “Come on, Brendon. Try to get your feet under yourself. I can’t do this by myself.” I was slowly realizing that neither could I. “I know it’s hard but I need you to just work with me here.”

“Ryan? Why are you home?” Spencer asked, his voice creeping closer. I had almost forgotten about the shift Ryan was avoiding. Part of me wanted to urge him to go and leave me on the floor, to carry on with his life, with the world he still had waiting before him that was yet to crash and burn. But I also knew I couldn’t be left alone. Not without him.

“He’s going to be so mad, Ryan.” I breathed, fear stiffening my muscles and causing me to freeze up again. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the movement not occurring in my legs. I visualized it as much as I could, my knee flexing only the tiniest bit in compliance; Ryan retired from the idea of getting me to successfully stand. “Ryan, you have to tell him.”

“I will.” Ryan brushing my hair back and trying to manually soothe the anxiety crumpling my face. “I’ll do all the talking.”

“Am I allowed to come in?” Spencer’s voice was playful, his hand waving in the doorway. “The door isn’t exactly _locked._ ”

“Just give us a second.” Ryan answered, easing me back down on the bed. I couldn’t stop staring at the doorway, waiting for Spencer to step in, his eyes falling on me immediately and seeing my first lies. _Months_ of lies and suddenly I was telling the truth. Ryan placed a hand on my shoulder and slowly sat down beside me. “Okay.”

“I don’t think your boss will accept this as a reason to be-” I had turned away from the door, but could tell by Ryan’s clenched jaw and wide eyes that Spencer had stepped inside, his eyes most likely fixated on the hair color he didn’t expected to be carding through my fingers nervously. “Oh. Didn’t know that’s what you meant by dying your hair, Bren.”

“Yeah.” I mumbled, keeping my head down. “Wanted the natural color back.”

“It looks nice.” Spencer said kindly.

“That’s what I said.” Ryan placed a hand on my back and tried to soothe me into lifting my head. Ryan’s hand was firm and steady. I could feel him hold his breath. The earth slowed down again, but for a far worse reason. I could feel it all coming toward me in slow motion and I braced myself for the impact. “I think it really suits Brendon.”

“I do t- _Brendon_.” Spencer echoed, the word twisting in his mouth. He laughed quietly as he assumed Ryan misspoke. “That. That’s not his name.” Spencer wasn’t asking, waiting for all of us to start laughing. The tension was tangible. It was tightening around my neck, bile rising in my throat again.

“It is.” Ryan supplied, placing another hand on my leg. “It’s Brendon Urie.”

“Why are you- Wait. How do I know that name?” Spencer asked, snapping his fingers and taking a step towards us. “Why do I know that?” My answer was a silent turn of my head as I slid my glasses off my face. My haggard, lifeless expression wasn’t the same as the grinning photos being printed by the hundreds, but I thought the two of us looked similar enough. “No. No, that’s not right. That’s not true. T-That’s not it.” Spencer retreated a step back as he finally looked at my face.

“Hold on, Spencer.” Ryan stood quickly and stepped past me. “I can explain everything.” The grenade had detonated and was just a fragmented metal shell, but he was still guarding it.

“You _knew_ about this?” Spencer yelled, waving a hand out at me. “You _knew_ he was the boy that they are looking for? You knew that. And you kept him here? In _our apartment_?” Spencer sounded betrayed, but less about my half of the equation. “Ryan, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Brendon didn’t want to.” Ryan answered. Spencer winced at my name, closing his eyes momentarily before looking back at Ryan. “He was scared, Spencer. I mean, come on. He’s only eighteen years old! He ran away from home! You can’t tell me you don’t at least know a _little_ about how that feels.” Ryan shouted back, poking a finger at Spencer’s chest sharply. “He’s allowed to be scared shitless.” Spencer’s face twisted with guilt as Ryan defended me.

“When did you figure it out?”

“A few weeks after he moved in.” Ryan responded, calming down. “When we went to Summerlin.”

“You mean that-” Spencer gasped and went silent as he began putting together all the missing connections to my past. His hand went up to hold his temple. “It’s all so _obvious_.” It wasn’t an insult to hear; it was far more obvious once you had all the pieces. When I first started, I had very little material to work off of. I just warped what I already knew. “I don’t understand.”

“They hit him, Spencer.” Ryan said shortly, his tone defensive. “Choked him.”

“You mean-” Spencer’s hand fell from his head to rest on his chest, fingers ghostly tracing the sides of his neck. “That was from your family?” I nodded and Spencer’s furrowed confusion turned into understanding. He nodded in return and let his hand flatten on his chest.

“I wasn’t going to send him back, Spencer.” Ryan stated, hinting at the obvious. “Those things don’t happen in single doses.”

“I know.” Spencer nodded. A painful wince flashed across his face as he looked at Ryan’s stern expression. “I know it doesn’t… I just wish you had told me. I could have been putting him in harm’s way!”

“I made sure you weren’t.” Ryan assured him. “He’s been safe this whole time.”

“Even with my mom-”

“She doesn’t know a thing.”

“And Dallon?”

“Uh,”

Ryan looked back at me and we both seemed to lose all explanation for Dallon’s situation. We had information that Spencer didn’t about his past, I had guilt that Spencer wouldn’t understand about stealing Andrew’s life, and now Dallon had found someone who died the same way as his first love.

While I was worrying about my mother, I hadn’t stopped to think about Dallon. Yes, he knew very little about me- well _Brendon_ \- but whatever he was doing, driving along the lonely desert road to then pull over, thinking he would help someone, out only to find them _dead_ wasn’t deserving at all. Dallon was hoping to save Brendon and stop God’s wrath on people like us, but he lost yet another battle. Dallon might not have been effected directly by my unveiling, but he definitely wasn’t free of damage. The whiplash was enough for him.

“That’s kind of a complicated question.” Ryan replied, trying to figure out how to explain that last fifteen minutes. The shock, the disbelief, the panic, the shutdown. The death.

“What happened?” Spencer was on board and concerned, already passed my identity and now worried about the parties involved. Ryan had prepared him well.

“Dallon found Brendon.” Ryan continued slowly. “ _Dead_.”

Spencer blinked and looked over at me before looking back at Ryan. “What.” He had obviously avoided the news on his way back from work, probably still on a high from spending time with Linda.

“Dallon was driving between Spring Valley and Summerlin and just _found him_.”

“But Bren… _don_ was at the pharmacy with me this morning.” Spencer said, squinting his eyes and staring at Ryan as if he was the one with the wrong information.

“I _know_ that.” Ryan sighed, slapping his hands against his thighs. “Brendon, help me.”

“They found a dead body.” I said flatly. “And they assumed it was me.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Spencer gasped, leaning his neck forward incredulously. “They just _assumed_. That- That doesn’t make any sense.”

“We know that.” Ryan gritted, trying to get Spencer’s attention again. “The point is that _now_ the entire world is no longer looking for Brendon.”

“That’s good.”

“No, Spencer. That’s bad.”

“Why?”

“He’s _not dead_.”

“I can _see that_.” Spencer huffed, rolling his eyes at Ryan. “I’m just saying that now the pressure's off.” Ryan was right; there were some things Spencer was just _never_ going to understand.

“Spencer.” I said quickly, startling both of them. “If they think I’m dead, I’m _dead_. I can’t walk around disproving them. That’s fucking insane.” My voice was heavy and sounded flat as I tried to explain the weight sitting in my chest. “I’m just some dead AIDS patient to that entire town and police department now. I would not be a welcomed ghost.”

“Wait… Did you just say _AIDS_ _patient_?” He echoed, stopping me. “Is that how they think you died?”

“The kid they found was _covered_ in sarcomas, Spence.” Ryan said cryptically. “That’s definitely what happened.”

“So, that’s why they just assumed.” Spencer sounded suddenly gutted, a hand going up to cover his face. “They find a teenage boy, sick and dead, and they just _assume_ it has to be you because that’s all they were looking for.” Spencer was right. They assumed I’d end up dead one way or another, diseased from being kidnapped by the vengeful Gay Community. I could have gone back to Summerlin a lot sooner, costume removed, and they wouldn’t have given me a second glance. They really were just hoping to find my body; there would be less humiliation and a lot less fingers to point.

“Now what.” Ryan seemed to be asking Spencer for our next step. It didn’t seem like we could just carry on with our lives as if nothing had changed. We couldn’t carry on from that morning, Ryan and I stilling the Earth, without acknowledging the fact that the Earth was now shattering. We couldn’t go on with our lives, acting like everything was normal, having our friends over for dinners and celebrating birthdays without recognizing the fact that we were all living with an unavoidable ghost.

“What do you mean?” Spencer replied.

“What do we do with him?” Ryan held a hand out to me before blinking slowly and correcting himself. “What do we do next? He’s stuck here, Spencer. He’s supposed to be _dead_.”

“He’s not stuck.” Spencer said definitively. I leaned forward curiously while Ryan seemed to step back, unsure of Spencer’s thought process. “According to paper trails, he’s only dead according to the state of Nevada.”

“What does that mean?” I was far too eager, but I refused to let anyone else direct the conversation.

“If you get a different state to issue an ID-”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.” Ryan interrupted. “I may have skipped college but I’m almost positive that’s not how that works.”

“That’s all you have. The hope that the information doesn’t get to other states before you do.” Another run. Another chase. I was so exhausted of being on the move, I just wanted to lay down somewhere. Finally, I was growing jealous of my family’s apparent ‘Brendon’; he didn’t have to run anymore. He had a nice home, eighty-four by twenty-eight inches.

“So, you think we should just run over to Washington or Oregon or something?” Ryan was trying to follow, but he was a few steps behind. It had been quite a while since he ran; the signs were a little less obvious to him.

“Ryan, he’s saying we leave.” I supplied, my voice not above a whisper. I could already feel myself growing tired from the thought of picking myself up and moving without an endpoint again.

“All three of us-”

“I can’t, Ryan.” Spencer answered quietly, his lips pressing together in a frown. “You know I can’t leave Linda. Or Mom. Or Jackie and Crystal. I have to stay here.”

“So… you’ll stay here?” Ryan’s voice cracked and he reached over to me, grabbing my hand. It was starting to hit him too. “And I’ll just, leave.”

“It’s the best thing for everyone.” Spencer was apologizing, but it couldn’t stop the catch in his voice, causing him to clear his throat and look away from us both. “You guys just have to go.”

“There has to be something else-”

“Start over, Ryan. Leave this damn city. Leave your dad, leave your job, leave your apartment, leave _me_ , and just start over. Don’t let us follow you your whole life.” He motioned toward himself- as well as the ghost hovering around us all.

We were going to start over again, both of us for the second time. We’d run together and hopefully find somewhere safe to stop. I had the sinking feeling we never would. There was no end for people like us. We weren’t drifters or anything that involved voluntary restlessness. We were scared. I had run to the edge out of terror and the unknown, and Ryan was affronted with his breaking point far too young. Running was a part of us. It was the only thing we knew how to do well. At least now he’d have someone who knew the truth- the _whole_ truth to ground us. We could build a lie together.

“I can’t leave Las Vegas.” Ryan rebutted. “I mean, Brendon, have you ever?”

“I hadn’t left Summerlin before I ran away.” I admitted. “Lived here my whole life.”

“Me too.”

“And _you_ still haven’t seen the ocean.” Spencer said quietly, although he wasn’t being shy.

Ryan’s mouth clamped shut as Spencer allowed him the chance to see his childhood vision of freedom- the temptress that haunted his every regret. He could finally start to live the life he imagined for himself in order to make the one he was living just that much easier- even if it was just for that blink of an eye. The dreamer could be revived; not all things that died had to remain dead. Our own personal ghosts were evident enough.

“Brendon?” Ryan was asking for my approval. The spark was barely noticeable, the shine distorted by the tears, but I could see it forming in Ryan’s eyes. It was hope, flashing quickly as Ryan and I seemed to put it all together and see that this was the only chance for us. If we stayed in Spring Valley, we’d sink lower into the coffin we were already building for ourselves- I just got to mine a hell of a lot faster.

“I’m dead.” It hurt less to say that time. It wasn’t anything I could change there, but elsewhere might give me a second chance at being the person I ran away to be. “I’ll go wherever you take me.”

“We’ll leave.” Ryan said slowly, his hand still gripping mine tightly. “Together. We’ll go somewhere.”

“New York.” Spencer suggested. “They’ll like you a lot more than small suburban Las Vegas, Ryan. You two can live there a little more safely than you do around here.”

A faint smile grew on Ryan’s face. “We could… We could be safe.” I wasn’t sure what Spencer meant by New York being different than Las Vegas. They were both cities, weren’t they?

“Why New York?”

“We don’t have to choose between having a job or holding hands in front of your work.” Ryan answered, smiling a bit wider. “They wouldn’t try to make you change, Brendon. We can go anywhere and have them _accept us_.”

“You can finally be Elton John.” Spencer laughed, patting Ryan’s arm lightly. “All your dreams, Ryan. They don’t include anything here.”

New York sounded fictional, but Ryan’s face was shining with such blinding hope, I only had the choice of believing him. It was a place we could both go and be safe. Brendon could retire from his career of running since his captors had given up chasing him, Ryan could leave his last demon to become a gravestone, and we could both learn to love each other in a place that didn’t ask for sacrifice or compromise. New York was the place we could have both. We’d be free and we’d have each other. Not a single footstep would follow ours and we’d be able to create our own lives from the bottom up and not have any of it be a lie.

Since I left my house, five months ago, I hadn’t really stopped running. I hadn’t fully settled. I was just lucky enough to rest my heavy heart and buzzing mind somewhere safe, somewhere protected. I had been saved by Spencer and Ryan, brought along this far only to need to continue farther. Continue to where Brendon finally had a name and a place, a home and a person to go home to; to where he was finally allowed to exist, shame free. It really didn’t matter where it was, as long as I had Ryan with me, the long run ahead of me would only be a few steps.

“You want to leave?” Ryan asked me again, turning to me. “I know this is a lot to take in at once- fuck this whole week has been- but, I want you to decide, Brendon. This is your choice.” I thought about my parents, my mom, my siblings, and Dallon. I thought about everyone I would be abandoning, our last conversations and last words never known to be the last, half finished with so much more to say. But then I thought about Marc, Ryan’s father, even my own and I knew that letting go would be the easiest thing to ask of me.

“Let’s go.”

“Are you sure, Brendon? I want to make sure that-”

“I’m sure.” I repeated. “I’m ready.”

And just like that, we were gone. Disconnected and sure to never return.

Ryan immediately began quietly listing the things we needed to pack- we didn’t own much for it to even cover all ten of Ryan’s fingers. He listed the clothes we’d have to pack since we _definitely_ didn’t have the kind of money to buy anymore, listed the different things that were never in hotels that we’d have to bring along, and listed the different weather we’d be encountering. He had a list running in the back of his mind at all times it seemed.

“How are we going to get anywhere?” I had gained enough feeling in my legs to stand finally, trying to follow Ryan’s pacing. Spencer gave up stopping him half an hour ago and was leaning against the wall. “We can’t take the car.”

“Sure you can.” Spencer offered, pulling the keys from his pocket. “Take it.”

“We can’t do that, Spence.” Ryan pushed his hand away. “Besides, we can’t get anywhere in that thing. You said so yourself.”

“What are you suggesting then? That you _walk_ , Ryan. That you pay under-table favors for a way across the fucking country?” Spencer was suddenly angry, although his rage was directed at something other than the two of us.

“Why are you saying that like it’s in my nature to do that?” Ryan retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Think I’ll just suck some guy off for a ride across Spring Valley?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“You kind of did.”

“Not _literally_ under the table, Ryan. _God_ , do you have to try and make me the enemy here. I am _just_ trying to help-”

“Guys.” I shouted, waving my arms out to try and silence the voices that made remaining on my feet feel exhausting. Both turned to stare at me, my voice matching their volume to everyone’s surprise. “Solutions. We need _solutions_.” I gripped the edge of the bed and slowly sat back down. Ryan broke out of his rut to step over to me, watching me carefully.

“Um,” Spencer was the first to speak, his voice careful. “If you _do_ take the car, I guess you’ll just have to drive it until you can’t anymore… I can try to get some money together in the meantime so when it does breakdown, you can get a new one. It’s the only thing I can think of, Ryan.” He was trying to apologize. “And if you take the car, you can leave tonight.”

“Tonight?” Ryan echoed, his tense and still furious expression replaced by sudden shock.

“Yeah, the sooner the better. You have to outrun the news.” Spencer nodded. Ryan’s arms fell to his sides and he looked like he was the one about to crumple to the ground, his feet hesitating with their current footing.

“Right.” Ryan nodded. “I’ll start packing.”

“Need me to help?” I didn’t pack the last time I ran so I was new to the entire process.

“No. I can do it.” Ryan shook his head and left the room quickly and quietly. Spencer’s eyes followed him, but he offered no words. He waited until he heard the slamming of dresser drawers before he stood from the wall and walked to Ryan.

I knew this was a moment far different from the one I was experiencing- I may have been figuratively killed by my own family, but Ryan was being asked to leave the only one he’d ever known. I trailed behind Spencer quietly, picking up Ryan’s book before leaving the room. I paged through it hurriedly, trying to find the poem Ryan had practically made his own. Something to remind him that he had been okay being alone before.

I held the book in one hand, my finger keeping the page, and stood behind Spencer as he leaned against the doorframe of his room, watching Ryan stare at two shirts with impossible complication. The TV had been turned off, keeping us in our own truth for just a second longer.

“Ryan,”

“I can’t remember which ones are yours and mine.” He shouted, shaking the fabric in his hands.

“Ryan… They are both yours.” Spencer replied calmly. Ryan sighed and pressed his eyes closed as he let his arms fall by his sides, the shirts wrinkling in his grip. “Ryan. Ryan, it’s okay. You can leave. You _can_ live without me or Ginger.”

“But,” Ryan started, slowly opening his eyes and turning to face Spencer. “I don’t know how.”

“Sure you do.” Spencer assured him. “You have been doing it a lot longer than you think.”

Ryan had only recently thrown out his father’s old chair though. It hadn’t been that long that he had been free of any and all vices. Spencer hadn’t seen the full story, but only the illusion. I knew what Ryan was thinking though; what the hell is the first thing you do once you get every ounce of freedom you’ve ever wanted. The options were endless and terrifying, and now, _dangerous_. I waited by the door and let Spencer walk over to Ryan, holding his arms out. Ryan stood still, letting Spencer wrap his arms around him and hug him in the same way Spencer always did; he placed a hand on the back of Ryan’s head and let Ryan rest his head on Spencer’s shoulder. Ryan didn’t have to place his arms around Spencer for him to continue trying to soothe him.

“Ryan, I know you’re scared, but you are going to be _fine_.” Spencer said quietly. “You have made it through a lot worse- all on your own too. I was just there to be your backup. It was all you.”

“I don’t know, Spence.” Ryan sighed, pulling away and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know if I can… I can’t save us both.”

“You don’t have to.” I said, stepping forward. “We’re here for each other. You aren’t on your own.”

“I- I know.” Ryan placed the shirts on the dresser and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “This isn’t about me… I’m sorry. I just,” He heaved with a shuddering breath. “I am just so _angry_ and _scared_ and-”

“And I am too.” I nodded. “I’m also dead. So, there is a lot less going for me unless I take you and we both get the hell out of here.”

“I know. I know.” Ryan nodded, still covering his eyes. “I’m just not as fucking _brave_ as I was three years ago.”

“Are you kidding?” I genuinely laughed at Ryan, the feeling jostling my chest and waking up parts of my body that were still plagued with darkness. I placed the book down to place both my hands on Ryan’s arms. “You nearly broke your ribs because you wanted to defend a kid you barely knew. You told your dad off without ever sinking to his level. You uprooted yourself until you found somewhere _safe_.” I waited until Ryan began peeking through his fingers at me. “Ryan, six years ago, you let yourself go home and be found and helped. That’s enough.” Ryan didn’t know how strong he was- didn’t know just how much he had been conquering on a day to day basis. Although, admittedly, maybe we all didn’t know how exhausted he was because of it.

“I know.” Ryan pushed his shoulders back and took a steady breath in. “And I didn’t come back just to let _you_ die.”

Spencer was standing by slightly confused as Ryan placed both hands on my face and kissed my forehead, but he continued to stand by without interference. He was slowly realizing that there was a lot less that he knew about Ryan than he thought; Ryan had stayed in a mode of hibernation and suppression, acting like certain years of his life didn’t happen- and Spencer was helping him. But now, they had to stop feeding into the habits of the other. A still-living ghost.

“I’ll go get the clothes from my room.” I told Ryan, noting the pile he had slowly started to make on the bed now only half-messy. “They are kind of all yours anyway.”

“I’ll start folding everything.” Spencer offered, walking to the other side of the bed and pulling the clothes closer to him.

I walked back into my room and started collecting everything from the drawers and closet. Every band t-shirt and floral shirt I had gotten to known as my own were hanging over my arm as I reached into the closet to grab the purple sweatshirt still hanging inside. Before leaving, I made sure to kick my black high tops into the hallway, sure to put them on my feet before walking back out into the world again. Spencer met me half way across his room and took some clothes off my arm, placing them down flat on the bed. Already, the three of us had created an efficient process; we were far too good at this. Who knew exiting a life could take so little time?

“You know what this reminds me of?” Ryan said, laughing quietly. “That afternoon my dad had actually left to go to the liquor store and we quick rushed to pack everything we could before getting the _fuck_ out of that house.”

“We were so nervous.” Spencer admitted. “I’m almost positive we still left stuff behind.”

“I don’t miss it.” Ryan sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t miss anything in that house.”

Spencer looked over at me, quietly trying to fold one of Ryan’s shirts. “We know.” He placed another shirt down, perfectly creased and placed his folded hands in his lap, pausing for a moment. “But you know what?”

“What, Spence?”

“Your dad would be so fucking _furious_ this time around.” He laughed, grinning at Ryan who was doing the same. “Yours too, Brendon.”

He was right. If my father found out I ran away (first or second time) with another man, he would personally be hunting down my every last step to make sure he could scold me with enough force to knock sense back into me- or out of me. I wasn’t sure where my father stood with things anymore. Maybe the death had softened him? Maybe by the time he came home to find my room empty and the backdoor swinging open, he realized exactly what he accused me of and exactly what he was doing to the child he swore in God’s name to love and protect and teach his word- who was following almost every single teaching to the best of his ability as gifted by God. Maybe some part of my dad actually did want to find me, and didn’t care how I was; he just wanted his son back.

Yeah, probably not. I know. You gotta try Spencer’s approach of being positive sometime, right?

“He’s probably preparing his funeral speech right now.” I mused, the thought not startling me as much as it should have. “Gotta think up a bunch of bullshit to bury me with.”

“You think he would?”

“I’m their previously thought heterosexual son that suddenly died of AIDS.” I said, blinking at Spencer. “Someone’s gotta do some talking. And I don’t want it to be me.”

“Agreed.” Ryan nodded, placing a pair of jeans down in our pile. “If he lies, let God strike him dead.” It was a sure deal for my father then. Then again, if that applied across the board, it explained how I ended up the way I did. God tried to strike me dead, but he just couldn’t seem to find me. “...That phrase is a little more morbid than I remember it being.”

“Ryan, you have literally spit in your father’s face and screamed that you wanted him to drop dead. In that moment.” Spencer mentioned slowly. “Your definition of ‘morbid’ needs to be revised.”

“You told him that?” I asked, shocked by Ryan’s honesty.

“Well, yeah. Once.” Ryan laughed, rolling his eyes at himself. “I had always wanted to do it.”

“Did it make you feel any better?” I wasn’t plotting, but goddammit I was curious.

“No. No it didn’t.” Ryan sighed, standing before the pile of clothes, none left in the drawers that belonged to him. “But then I stole a chair. And that didn’t help either.”

“Oh.”

“But this is helping.” Ryan muttered. “This will help. Leaving. It’ll help.” The ‘maybe’ of his sentence was left unsaid, but articulated by the falling of his eyes from my face to the book I had placed on the mattress.

* * *

Spencer apparently had chosen the wrong profession and _really_ should have invested his efforts in the finer arts of cramming- time and physical space wise. I thought I was an upcoming professional, but Spencer was able to fit everything Ryan and I were choosing to have to our name in one handled suitcase and a backpack. The rest of our lives could be carried in our hands. Even the seconds that ticked by seemed to hang heavy in my fingers.

Since packing, I had changed back into my sweatshirt, trying to continue the trend of using it as an unrecognizable costume; it hugged my hips and arms in a familiar way that I could only associate with nicotine, stale liquor, and unsettling uncertainty. Ryan had changed from his works shirt into a plain gray t-shirt and a corduroy jacket, keeping all of our important possessions close to him.

“Do you have all your IDs, Ryan?” Spencer asked for the third time. Ryan patted his jacket pocket in confirmation. “All the car information? Maps? Money? Some food to take with you?”

“Yes, Spencer.” Ryan promised, smiling but trying not to let himself look joyed at the goodbye approaching us. “We’ve got everything.”

“Alright then.” Spencer swallowed slowly and turned to me, holding his arms out. “It’s been very nice meeting you, Brendon.”

“Thank you for everything, Spencer.” I said, hugging him. “Thanks for saving my life.” Spencer patted me on the back with a strong hand that I was _sure_ was trying to overcompensate for the shaking breath I heard come from him. “And tell your mom I said thank you as well. Tell her I got Ryan to move out. She’ll be happy, I promise.”

“Okay.” Spencer nodded along, laughing at his own confusion and wiping away the tear on his cheek. “I’ll tell her then.”

I stepped back from Spencer and picked up the suitcase by Ryan’s feet, knowing he wasn’t going to be carrying it. I leaned against the door and tried not to intrude on the goodbye neither of them saw coming for over fifteen years.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your birthday.” Ryan mumbled first, already growing teary eyed. “It’s going to be our first one apart.”

“Oh, _Ryan_.” Spencer laughed wetly, hugging Ryan again. They both grabbed onto each other and tried to forget that they would have to let go. “I don’t care. I only care about you being safe- fuck turning _twenty_. I got to see you turn twenty-one, and that’s all I really care about.”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you too, Ryan.” Spencer kissed Ryan on the cheek before loosening his grip around Ryan. “Be safe. I’ll be here if you ever need to come back.”

Ryan stepped back first, taking a breath and straightening his posture. His eyes were red and cheeks were shiny as he tried to wipe away the tears. He patted his pockets again, distracting himself from the reality of Spencer’s goodbye. He pulled a pair of keys from his pocket and held them out to Spencer slowly.

“I won’t be needing these.” His voice would have been cold, if not for the quivering of his bottom lip. “It’s your apartment now.” Spencer took them from Ryan with hesitation, like he’d still need them anyway. Ryan waited until Spencer had pocketed them himself before turning to me. “Okay, Brendon. Are you ready to go?” Go. Like we were just stepping out for a moment. Not leave, just _go_.

“Does it really matter if I am?” I asked. “I still have to.”

“I know.” Ryan sighed, taking my free hand in his and squeezing it. “Better now than later.”

“Better dead than alive.” I muttered, stepping up to the door with Ryan.

His hand hesitated on the doorknob before turning it slowly. We both weren’t ready for the monsters waiting in the hallway. The rest of the world had been locked away from both of us all morning, the two of us able to control its rotation simply with our bodies, and now it was finally back to controlling us. Neither of us wanted to relinquish the power. Ryan opened the door, but this time, he was the first to walk through it, leading me out into the silent hallway. We both didn’t know what time it was, the hours moving at an inconsistent pace, and weren’t sure if it was the time of night to be making any noise. Ryan gripped may hand harder the minute Spencer closed the door behind us; it was just us now.

I was finally repaying my debt to Spencer; I was letting him go. He was safe. He wouldn’t have to face any of the damage facing me and Ryan for my actions- for both of our actions. Mine had obviously come back at me full force, but Ryan’s were slowly catching up to him too. He had lived in ignorance and avoidance for so long, but now all those lies and secrets were starting to have their own foreboding tick.

We took the stairs quickly, Ryan still in front of me. He still hadn’t released my hand even as the difference in our speeds tried to separate us. The suitcase dragged against the bottom of the steps as I hurried after Ryan, the two of us practically running from the apartment, like it was seconds away from exploding. Like it was the dangerous one.

We reached the first floor and Ryan hesitated before we walked out into the plain view of the lobby. Ryan let go of my hand only to straighten his lapels and comb his hands through his hair. He turned to look over his shoulder, nodding at me shortly.

“Ready.” I told him, gripping the suitcase tightly.

“Wait!” Ryan gasped quietly, reaching over to grab the hood of my sweatshirt. He pulled it over my head and covered almost my entire forehead. “Can’t let them see that. Your face is fucking everywhere out here.”

“Won’t I look suspicious?” I shook my head and tried to let the hood fall back a little, allowing me to see clearly.

“They’ll see the suitcase and be glad we are leaving.” Ryan said, brushing my bang back into the hood. “Just don’t look guilty.”

“Well, now that you’ve said that.” I muttered to myself, starting into the lobby.

My faces hadn’t changed. None had been taken done or at least moved. There was a steady stream of them covering the open walls of the lobby, at immediate eye level. I ducked my head and let the hood cover my peripheral vision. I couldn’t see anything but Ryan’s heels leading me to the door. We were making our last escape. This would be it. Once we were out that door, we were on our own, starting over. Once we left, we couldn’t go back. I was dead and Ryan was the last living Ross. Everything that laid behind us could only be used to push us forward, never fall back. Our safety nets had become barbed wire and the futures had become moonless nights- everything was a guess. Each step could lead us further away or further into trouble. There was only one way to find out.

Ryan pushed the glass doors open swiftly and the cool night air met us both on the sidewalk. Las Vegas giving us the cold shoulder we deserved after abusing its vastly similar deserts and hidden suburban towns. We didn’t stop to look at the man standing across the street, holding a paper up and shouting out into the empty streets; God forbid my face was printed on it or my name was spewing from his lips. God forbid he was from the church, praying for my eternal soul.

“Hey, Ryan?” I asked quietly, walking beside him through the parking lot. “What do you think is going to happen to Dallon?”

“What do you mean?” Ryan responded, turning to look at me. “Happen to him?”

“Don’t you think he’s a little… _messed up_ now?” I glossed over the fact we all saw him crying on the local news station, completely in ruins after finding a dead body. “After all, he did just want to save me.”

“I don’t think he’ll take it personally…” Ryan said slowly, approaching the car. We both knew that wasn’t true; I was the second one that had been taken under his watch. I was so careless, I couldn’t even let someone as harmless as Dallon make it out unscathed.

I wanted to get out of that town as quickly as I could and burn the imagery from my mind, giving my memories a blank setting.

Ryan unlocked the car and pushed his seat forward to allow me to throw the suitcase and backpack into the backseat. Out of habit, I almost climbed into the back. But I could sit in the front this time. There would be no other passengers.

“You know where you’re going?” I asked, putting on a seatbelt and watching Ryan adjust all the mirrors skillfully.

“No.” Ryan admitted. “But this won’t be the first time.”

“I walked last time, so this is a welcome change.” I tried to make a joke, but Ryan was too focused on starting the car to laugh, let alone hear me.

“Bye, Spring Valley.” Ryan said quietly, backing out of the space. “Bye, Spencer.”

“Bye, George.” I added, placing a hang on his leg.

“Bye, Boyd.” He returned, raising one hand from the wheel to hold up a middle finger. “I’ll see you in hell… But I’m gonna make you wait sixty fucking years for it.”

Could we run for another sixty years? Hell, could we even run for a full year? An entire twelve months just changing locations and destinations and lies and stories? We were on our way to find out. Since leaving Summerlin, I found that there never seemed to be any limits. If you really wanted to, you could run to the edge, but you could also run over it. There was never an end. Nothing ever really stopped. Stopped running. Stopped chasing. Stopped wondering. Stopped hurting. But there was hope for us, there was hope in a new start. There would never be a shortage of those either. When in doubt, we had each other and could also pick up and change again; we’d still be our true selves with the other, we’d _finally_ only be changing the scenery.


	6. Death to Dignity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for a scene right after the line break that involves PTSD surfacing in the case of brief violence. Please be aware.  
> In other news, look for an update next Wednesday as well as one the next two Sundays. We are coming to the last few chapters!  
> Thank you and enjoy!

I had no idea where Ryan was driving. It was pitch black outside, and as we opened the windows, only the ringing silence of the cold evening came back to us. The sky was secretive and didn’t have a single star or light to guide my guess. There wasn’t another car on the road or another building in sight. We were in the unsettling purgatory between lives; when you technically have left one, but haven’t met a soul to lie to in order to cement yourself in the new one you wanted. It was a strange paradox how much, when you were on the run, you didn’t want to see people, but how people were the ones that really defined which life you were living. Without people coming into contact with us on this road, or attempting to find us at the apartment, we would still be wherever people decided we were; memories spoke louder than actions.

“Do you know where we are?” I asked Ryan quietly, trying not to startle him.

“Utah?” Ryan responded, squinting to look at the road illuminated by his headlights. “Maybe?”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Maybe.” Ryan repeated. “There’s really only one highway that takes you across the country… _Not_ the way I wanted to be traveling it. But I’ll take what I can get.”

“I know you’d prefer to have Spencer.” I teased, poking his arm. My humor was dry, the environment already getting the best of me.

“I never said that.” Ryan laughed, swatting at my hand. “I just wish we could enjoy the drive. You know, all that movie shit; windows down, happy music, kissing at stop lights.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” I muttered, pulling my legs up onto my seat and trying to find a sixth new position to sit in. “Dreaming of seeing the ocean, wanting a beautiful ride on the country road, having your hand down my pants at like, ten in the morning.”

“Alright, I refuse to be shamed for that.” Ryan said firmly, a laugh hidden in his tone. “I know what I did and I stand by it.”

We were in a car, driving through a state we couldn’t even define. There was no other time to have this conversation. I was already dead and my identity was just name, it held no weight or importance. I had nothing left to lose. “You aren’t even a _little_ embarrassed.”

“Nope.”

“I mean, like. _Nothing_.”

“I’ve done a lot worse.”

“Not what I asked.” I covered my face as I felt a blush cling to my neck; I had too. But that _wasn’t_ where I wanted the conversation to go. “I mean, you don’t feel, embarrassed? Like, _exposed_?”

“What, right now? No.” Ryan shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. He had the dazzling skill of being able to discuss it with such nonchalance and ease. I wasn’t sure if I was the common factor, or the subject matter was. “When I was younger, yeah.” _Younger_. The word struck me oddly. Ryan never spoke about times when he was ‘young’, only times that were not the present. Ryan never seemed to change age in his stories. Well, not typically. “When I was in high school. Yeah. Sex was still weird.” I hadn’t even had the nerve to say the word before Ryan. My naivety knew no bounds.

“Well, didn’t you sleep with your best friend first?” I rolled my eyes, not out of malice, but the fact that the complication in that choice was _obvious_. Even someone as clueless and green as me would know to avoid that conflict of interest.

“I didn’t lose my virginity to Spencer.” I winced at the sudden truth I _didn’t know_ I was thinking. Ryan went from keeping all his secrets close to his chest to speaking with the most honesty I had ever heard. It was startling how much Ryan still had to share. And how little he cared that I knew it.

He was far more experienced and comfortable with the subject than I thought. I was about to turn into that boy sitting in the bleachers, innocently cheering on the losing football team; collar being tugged on, alluring and confusing nothings being muttered into his ear. I knew nothing and the words being spoken to me were foreign, only gaining meaning from their dark tone. Never had I known ‘get out of here’ to mean anything other than what we were doing right then, driving down the desert road in isolation. But I learned a far different definition that night.

“W-Was that something you didn’t want to hear?” Ryan laughed, noting my prolonged silence. “Sorry. But, it’s the truth… Can’t tell if it would be easier to digest if I had lied.”

“I don’t really care.” I responded slowly, shifting my body to lean against the door. “Your business is your business.” Everything Ryan did when he was _younger_ , what he did when he was still living with his dad was nothing I could pass judgment on.

“I mean, if it makes you feel any better, I was fifteen and stupid.” Ryan leaned his left arm on the door as he drove, his right hand resting by his side.

“You did a lot of things when you were fifteen.” The flash of Ryan’s sixteenth birthday picture came to mind, reminding me what shape and mindset he was in when he was ‘younger’.

“Exactly. Fifteen and stupid.” Ryan nodded. “Now if you want to imagine being _just_ over ninety pounds- recovery at its _finest_ \- skin and bones, having a six foot three local band star staring at you and asking you why you keep getting light headed and stopping everything to _breathe_ every few minutes.”

Marc wasn’t six foot three, and I wasn’t unhealthy, but I could imagine it. Asking for anything, even if it was the breath to keep going, was scarring enough. Having to break the momentum and flow of someone else was enough to make me shut my mouth for the rest of time. I could feel the eyes on me all over again; the way you become hyper aware of how they are perceiving you, how you will look later out of that bubble and in the real world.

“No thanks. I don’t want to.” I replied quietly, shaking my head. “It seems awful enough.”

“So, to answer your question, _yes_. I know what that feels like.” Ryan laughed and reached over to place a hand on my knee. “But it changes. It goes away. You don’t always feel like you are suddenly on display, being scrutinized and judged.” Ryan looked over at me for as long as he could while still remaining on the road. “Then you just start to feel like the entire world fades away… And you only exist in their eyes.”

Fuck. He _was_ a romantic.

“Can’t say I really know what that feels like.”

“It takes a while.” Ryan nodded, his voice going quiet. “Took me a few years. After Dan, Pete, Spencer, Will…” Ryan meant _me_.

It was just a rushed and haze-fueled decision before either of us really knew what we were getting into, scared and realizing how much we couldn’t leave the other, no matter what destruction came our way. It was a moment of time that felt like the world only blinked, but we had lived our whole lives. It was our bodies getting the best of our better judgment and falling victim to our own fidgeting hands and incomprehensible words. It was something I had done countless times before, but somehow it felt like we had changed the whole world. It felt like we really had stopped time. Those seconds when Ryan was staring at my hair, muttering and unable to take his eyes away from it, didn’t exist anywhere else in time. As far as anyone was concerned, I stepped out of the bathroom and Ryan stepped right in after me. There was an overlap of time where time itself couldn’t even reach us. We only existed to each other. Only in each other’s eyes.

I loved him. I loved him after having never loved anyone else. I loved him after being misled about the warmth that should be fluttering in my chest and not up my neck. I loved him after seeing only the bad in someone that was staring back at me. I loved him even though I had never encountered the feeling or known how it would be. I loved him and suddenly everything made sense.

“I’ll have to wait for it.” I said quietly, knowing very well what I was saying.

“It all goes away.” Ryan added, looking at me again. “It all just fades away. And all that’s left is them.” Ryan turned back to the street as another car appeared at the other end of the road, lights shining on his face. “It stops feeling weird. You don’t feel self-conscious. You feel…the most comfortable you’ve ever felt, actually. 

“Did you… uh,” I made sure Ryan’s eyes weren’t going to look over at me and scare the words back into my chest. “Did you feel that way today?” Ryan waited for the car to pass us before turning to look at me, the dim evening light only catching half of Ryan’s face. He nodded slowly, like he was surprised by the question. “Even though…”

“Even though what?” Ryan was trying to juggle the act of driving while also keeping his eyes on me.

“Even though it was _weird-_ ” Ryan cleared his throat and I revised my word choice. “-hasty and fast and _not_ how we both thought we would start our day…” I was insinuating a quickie with not so many words. Or actually _so many_ words.

“Wait.” Ryan said, holding one hand up to my side of the car, but not to me; he wasn’t looking. “I don’t think you understand.” Ryan took a moment to breathe, his head shaking as he waved his hand around, sorting through his words. “When I saw you, the same person you were running from, hair dyed and determined and fucking _stubborn_ , you were, as I _thought_ I made clear, the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.” I was thankful he wasn’t looking at me. “And when I think about what you remind me of and who you remind me to be… I am very thankful to have found you- for you to have found me. And I don’t care if it’s planned after a dinner or we just fall onto the couch; I get to be close to you and that makes me feel… a way I haven’t felt my entire life.” He turned to look at me, and he was right; I could only see myself in his eyes. “I love you. As terrifying as that is in this fucking mess we’re in, I know it and I _want_ to love you.”

“I-” I sputtered, my words lodged in my throat for a far different reason than I had been experiencing in the past few days. They were stuck because they knew they weren’t enough to fully express my thoughts. Words weren’t the correct form; Ryan and I had a wordless language that was far more effective, even though neither of us understood how we used it. “I would kiss you, but that’s dangerous.”

Ryan laughed loudly, his giggle breaking the somber tone of his speech. He sniffled and tried to clear away the wetness of his laugh. “Thank you.” He said, glancing over at me briefly. “I’ll remind you when we stop.”

“When will that be?” I asked, trying to redirect both of our eyes and attentions to the road. Our hands, though, were a different story. I reached over and placed mine over Ryan’s that was resting by his side again.

“Not really sure…” Ryan admitted, squinting at the end of the road. “Not sure how far is a safe first stop… Not sure what towns know you.”

“It should only be a hundred miles… Isn’t that what Dallon said?”

“ _Couple_ hundred.” Ryan corrected, letting my fingers slip in-between his. “Utah could not be safe either.”

“So, you are just going to drive straight to the other side of the country?” I laughed. “Ryan, we have to stop.”

“Just not yet.” He insisted. “I only want to stop when I know it’s safe for you.”

I nodded and let Ryan win the argument, knowing that he was just trying to keep both of us in our own world for as long as possible. He was trying to put off facing the reality of our own limitations for as long as humanly possible; we had until the sun rose.

I stared out my window, my hand still fiddling with Ryan’s, watching the dark desert whip past us. Ryan started humming under his breath, trying to fill the silence that the radio would surely shatter harshly. We wanted to feel like there wasn’t another soul on the Earth, not even the untouchable voices on the radio. I didn’t know the song but enjoyed it anyway, trying to anticipate the melody and sing along. I leaned my head against the glass as I saw a sign approach us; the first sign in a what felt like _hours_. It was a small, practically hand-painted sign sticking out of the sand and gravel beside the road: _Now entering Littlefield_.

“Littlefield?” I echoed, reading it to Ryan. “Wait a second.”

“Do we know this place?”

“This isn’t Utah yet.” I said, sitting up straight. “Dallon’s talked about Littlefield before. This is Arizona.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked, craning his neck to see the sign. “Because I’m pretty sure Prescott is _that_ way.” Ryan pointed vaguely at the desert stretching out on my side of the car. “It’s like in the _dead_ middle of Arizona.”

“Doesn’t mean we still aren’t in Arizona.” I argued. “We have to stop.”

“ _What_?” Ryan said, turning his head to look at me. “Did you not just hear what I said?” I owed it to some part of Bren’s memory to at least stop in his home state. Even if it was to only overnight on my way to reclaim my old life back and lay Bren down to rest forever.

“Come on. This town looks _harmless_.” The scenery barely changed as we drove farther into town. The houses were small and separated, ma-and-pa shops lining the no-longer paved road every few miles. “And you look tired, Ryan. You have to stop and sleep. We can’t run forever.”

“I’m not tired.” Ryan insisted. We passed a general store sign, the glow showing the circles forming under Ryan’s eyes. I blinked at him. “I can keep driving for a few more hours.”

“Ryan, let me take care of you.” I said, pulling his hand closer to me. “Listen to me. Let’s stop and sleep. Start early tomorrow.”

Ryan looked at me and pressed his lips together, already my leverage on him out weighting his uncertainty. “Harmless, right?” He echoed, looking back to the road and slowing down to try and catch street names. We were scanning the names for anything Dallon had said before.

Ryan slowly approached a street with the town’s namesake, turning into it with enough hesitance to almost miss the gear shift and stall the car. The street was mostly dark, all the lights out in the houses- it was far too late for such a small and secluded town to be up and awake; this wasn’t Vegas. This was the first street on the town off the highway; there had to be _someone_ awake. Someone willing to let us in- or at least just let us park the car in their driveway to sleep. There was one light attracting our attention over to the side of the street. Ryan’s headlights lit up the front of the three-story home, looking slightly out of place amongst all the modest homes. There was a sign staring back at Ryan’s headlights: _Pearl B &B._

“You think Pearl is a nice lady?” Ryan muttered, turning off the lights and engine. “Willing to accept a couple queers at this time of night.”

“You have the money in cash?” Ryan patted his pocket and nodded at me. “She’ll take us.” I looked at Ryan with a pointed glance before opening my car door.

“Wait.” Ryan reached over and grabbed my sweatshirt, pulling me back into the car. “You almost forgot.” I attempted to inquire my misplacement, but was briefly silenced by Ryan using his grip on my shirt to pull me to his lips.

I was awkwardly angled half away from Ryan, my body trying to twist the rest of the way toward him, my hands resting on his chest for both balance and distance. It wasn’t chaste; Ryan’s breath hot against my lips as he hovered over them. Ryan’s hand still tightly gripping my shirt and pulling me in an inch closer, slowly. I was falling over the console and practically into Ryan, my hands still firmly on his chest, trying not to move beyond the kiss we had agreed on; one of the first-floor windows illuminated suddenly.

“Ryan, here they come.” I muttered against his lips, trying to move away without falling. “Can’t give them that first impression.”

“And what would that be?” Ryan smirked, sitting back in his chair and checking his pockets again.

“That we’re gay.” Regardless if they knew Brendon or not, there was still always going to be an obstacle waiting for us.

“Well, that’s just not true.” Ryan said with fake shock. “You like girls too.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them that.” I rolled my eyes and stepped out of the car, pulling my seat up to grab our backpack from the backseat.

Ryan rounded the car, waiting for me with a hand open by his side; he had the surprising bravery to walk straight into danger rather than avoid it. We didn’t know Pearl or any of her feelings on our ‘lifestyle’, and Ryan had the idea of walking in with love in his eyes and my hand in his. If anything, maybe showing the world things they didn’t want to see, they’d turn away from us and let us fall through the cracks.

I took his hand and trusted he knew what he was doing.

More lights were on in the foyer, the soft lighting shining against the sheer curtains. Ryan and I climbed the porch stairs slowly, staying even with the other as we approached the door. By the door there were nicely painted welcome signs and potted cacti. The porch lighting itself was dim and I struggled to read the small wooden sign by the door. I swore it said ‘Matthew’. I barely had enough time to confirm my own vision before Ryan had opened the door and was walking inside. Matthew and Pearl. What a couple.

There was a table-converted desk as soon as we stepped inside. Behind it was a delicate older woman in a long purple robe and matching curlers in her hair; Pearl, we guessed. We stepped up to the desk and Ryan cleared his throat to speak, allowing me to look around the room, maybe spotting Matthew.

“Hi there.” Ryan said politely.

“Hello.” The woman’s voice was quiet and tense.

“Is it possible to get somewhere to sleep for the evening?” Ryan shook my hand as I was sure he was gesturing between the two of us.

I was too interested in the familiar feeling décor. There was a cross to the right of Pearl, small and wooden; simple but direct. There was also another cross- well, technically crucifix- hanging on the far wall of the room where it looked like guests all sat around to discuss their early morning tourist plans and ate home-cooked breakfast. It seemed like the last guest had left a book on the lamp table; it was intimidating large, looking like four books pushed together. It couldn’t have been joy reading. I twisted my neck to read the spine as Ryan made the request again, the woman oddly staying silent.

_Holy Bible; Book of Mormon; Doctrine and Covenants; and-_

Pearl of Great Price. _Pearl_. And Matthew. Matthew 13:45; the Parable of the Pearl.

Oh _fuck_.

I turned back to Ryan quickly, the news nervously on my lips. Ryan was staring at the woman with raised eyebrows. She stared down at our hands that were linked and hanging by our sides.

“Uh,” She was wringing her hands in front of her chest. “We’ve never had… _homosexuals_ here.”

“Oh great.” Ryan sighed, lifting a hand to pinch his nose.

“Ryan. Pearl. Pearl of _Great Price_.” I muttered, trying to direct his gaze to the book sitting on the table. Ryan furrowed his eyebrows at me and looked even more irritated by his confusion. I rolled my eyes and sighed, forgetting that Ryan didn’t have the same information forced into his head for over a decade. “They’re _Mormon_.”

“You know the book?” She asked, her hands lowering to rest on the desk. Her face suddenly looked relieved, her eyes finally lifting from our hands to my eyes. “Are you a member of the Church?”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh. I understand.” She nodded, biting her bottom lip nervously. “But, even if you’ve left, you would still understand my…”

“Yeah.” I sighed, anticipating her next sentence; there was no need to make her say it. “I get it.”

“I don’t know what you need… How to meet your…” She motioned to us in a vague way, unfamiliarity directing her movements, not malice.

“Wait, what?” Ryan’s hand dropped from his face as he looked at the woman with startled confusion. “Our _needs_?”

“We’ve never housed homosexuals before.” She repeated, this time sounded _apologetic_. “I don’t know-”

“How do you think we live?” Ryan asked, almost laughing. The woman’s face went blank as it was obvious she never gave it any thought. “We just need somewhere to sleep. A mattress. A floor. I’ll take anything.”

“Oh…” The truth was overwhelmingly simple to her. “Just one bed.”

“That would be great.” I supplied, answering the question I knew Ryan was about to ask. “Thank you.”

“How will you be paying?”

Ryan answered by pulling money from his pocket. The woman looked at it with a somewhat _scared_ expression. I realized then how strange it must have been for two men, most likely looking horribly exhausted, to come in at God knows what hour and pay with an assortment of bills just _sitting in our pockets._ I just smiled and pretended to not see an issue with the situation. Ryan did the same. We both had enough practice between the two of us to look convincing.

The woman opened a drawer in the table, placing the money Ryan handed in and pulling out a small key, resting it on the table. “You are the third room on the right on the second floor.”

“Third on the second.” Ryan echoed. “Great.”

“If you could just sign out guest book, Mister….”

“Ryan. It’s just Ryan. Not old enough to be just be my last name.” He said kindly, scrunching his face at the thought. Ryan reached over and grabbed the pen from the table and scribed his name on the blank line. The woman looked at it subtly before nodding and closing the book.

“We have breakfast in the parlor around nine.” She said as we walked toward the thin staircase at the end of the room.

“We’ll be out by eight.” Ryan mumbled to me, ushering me up the stairs before him.

The hallways were trimmed in with painted-white wood, the other half rolled with striped floral wallpaper. There were wooden signs hung along the walls, each with some kind of chipper saying or numbers for a bible verse on them. I felt more at home, but nothing about it was comfortable.

“Third on the left.”

“Right.” Ryan corrected, grabbing my shoulders and turning the correct way. “Third on the right.” He pointed at the white door and handed the key to me over my shoulder. I took it and unlocked the door as quickly and quietly as I could; I didn’t know what persons were sleeping in the rooms across from us.

The room was simple; a small room for the bed, and a bathroom in the corner. The color scheme was mostly white and powder pink. The curtains were tied up and the dark sky stared back at us as we walked into the room. The bed was covered in pillows with ruffled edges and comforters so fluffed the mattress look a foot too tall. The sheets were pristine white, small roses printed on them.

“You have a side?” Ryan asked, already shouldering off his jacket and throwing it on the rocking chair that sat behind the door.

“What?” I asked, still frozen by the door, staring at the single bed in our room.

“A side.” Ryan repeated. “Of the bed. Left, right, middle, across the top, along the bottom, underneath- where do you typically sleep?”

“I don’t know.” I answered truthfully. I always just slept in the middle. Unless it was with Marc, and then we just slept all over each other. There was no order, no tradition, no _sides_. “I’ll pick the left, I guess.”

“Okay.” Ryan nodded, placing a hand on my arm and trying to tug the backpack off of me. “Come on, it’s not going to swallow you up… Well, the pillows might. But the bed won’t.” I let Ryan slide the bag off and rest it on the chair with his jacket.

Before, I was starting to feel the drag of nighttime pulling on me, but now I was wide awake. Ryan was already pulling his shirt over his head and placing it, folded, on the dresser that sat across from the bed. He reached for his belt and I immediately turned away, facing the bathroom. I could hear the buckle clanging around as the leather slid out from the loops on his jeans. The shuffle of denim made my hands grip by my sides, my breath catching and stopping as I focused all my efforts in hearing what happened next.

Typically, there would be the sound of wrinkling plastic, quiet muttering, my name, a cold hand on my shoulder. But there was only the sound of sheets rustling, the mattress squeaking as Ryan sank into it.

“You gonna sleep or just stand there?” Ryan laughed, a hand suddenly grabbing mine. “I need a left side.”

I gave in to the tug on my hand and turned to look at Ryan. The blankets were resting halfway up his chest, covering only things I haven’t seen anyway. He looked up at me with a smile, both arms reaching over to pull me closer. This felt all wrong, but not in any way that caused discomfort. This wasn’t what I knew. This wasn’t the order I knew. This was two people sharing blankets and warmth. Sharing a place to sleep. Ryan would just be by my side.

“Want me to put my shirt back on?” Ryan asked with what I could only recognize as politeness. “Out of habit, I typically sleep without one- didn’t mean to just-”

“It’s okay. It’s fine. I’ll just-” I shook my head and let go of his hands, reaching down and fiddling with my jean button. “Uh, could you-”

“Not looking.” Ryan lifted a hand to his eyes and turned away from me. “Won’t look until you say.” Ryan had seen me without a shirt and in indecent ways earlier that day, but he still didn’t claim to have any privilege over what he could see. I never knew I was looking for that relief. I planned on sharing everything with Ryan- and I was more than positive that he knew this too- but he didn’t assume a single glance if I didn’t bring it to his eyes first. Still felt awkward; I wasn’t there yet.

“Just let me get under the blankets.” I told him, trying to step out of my jeans with as little hesitance as possible.

“Don’t forget the light.” Ryan added, laying down on his pillow, hand firmly placed over his eyes.

“Shit- got it.” I nearly forgot; both of us almost under the covers, covering the parts of ourselves we willed to have close to each other, but not facing the fact we were comfortable- not yet. I flicked the switch by the door and hurried back over to the bed. It was strange, standing by a bed in a shirt you couldn’t remember the original owner of and underwear bought by your boyfriend’s best friend after stumbling into his care soon after being drugged at a gay club. Then again, I didn’t think it was going to feel _normal_ anyway I put it.

“You good?” Ryan asked patiently, his hand not moving.

“Hold on.” I pulled back the white comforter and slipped under it, placing my glasses on the table by the bed before pulling it back over myself, tucking the end under my neck as I turned to face Ryan. “Okay.”

“You sure?” Ryan’s fingers slowly started to part, his one eye peeking through.

“Yeah.” I assured him. My legs stretched out and my feet bumped into his. They were freezing. A quiet giggle escaped from me as my legs recoiled and I stayed in a ball under the covers. Ryan lowered his hand to look at my laughter.

“What’s so funny?” He slid down on the pillows so his face was beside mine. He came closer, making sure his face was in the field that I could see with clarity.

“Spencer wasn’t joking.” I said to him. “Your feet are fucking cold.”

“Already?” Ryan sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. “You are going to complain about my feet _already_? We haven’t been in the same bed for a full minute.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.” I teased, pulling away from him. His face grew foggy and blurred. “Maybe I should ask for a different room.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Ryan laughed, reaching forward and grabbing my arm under the sheets. He didn’t even look but he seemed to know exactly where I was, like he was grabbing for his own arm. “I think it’s a sign that I need someone to keep me warm.” Ryan reentered my vision with a soft but sly smile, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the lamp beside me.

“And you just _assume_ that’s me?” I placed a hand out to find Ryan, my hand landing on his chest, resting over his heart. I didn’t need to feel it; I could practically hear it. Ryan couldn’t be _nervous,_ could he? He couldn’t be feeling the same jitters from suddenly being at the near _last_ frontier with someone that was nothing but taken by you… He just couldn’t. Not Ryan. He was too well put-together for that. I was the naïve and foolish one. Me. “Why do you think I would even _dare_ to-”

“You’d just let me _freeze_ to death? Is that it?” Ryan joked, his hand releasing my wrist to poke playfully at my side. My hand was still on his chest, the perfect leverage and position to push him away, but I didn’t move a muscle. If anything, I somehow found a way to pull him closer. I could see his face far more clearly, his warmth radiating over to me as he shifted closer onto my pillow. I didn’t need to see him.

“Is that all you want from me? Warmth?” I asked, my voice dropping off involuntarily as I could feel Ryan’s hand rest on my waist. The hand landed, but never moved. Everything was in steps; questioning touches that could be halted with just a short breath or a frantic blink. Everything was new. I realized then, I didn’t know what I was expecting anymore. Everything I knew couldn’t be applied. Everything was through new eyes; only Ryan’s.

“You caught me.” Ryan muttered, laughing as he settled his head onto my pillow. I had a side only for the purpose of invading it. “You’ve got a cold-blooded romantic on your hands.”

“In them, you mean.” My hand came up to rest beside the other, pressing against Ryan’s chest.

“Well, you could say that too.” Ryan continued, his hand sliding over my waist and sliding up to rest between my shoulder blades. His eyes began to droop closed as he settled in front of me, both our heads resting on the same pillow and knees bumping against each other as he shifted closer.

“Good night, Ryan.” I said quietly, watching him drift off with a smile still on his face.

“I want you right here when I wake up.” He said, his eyes fighting to stay open. He shifted his head and tried to shake himself awake. “I’m already worried.”

“I’ll be okay, Ryan.” At that moment, we were in a town practically too small to be seen by anyone other than the residents, tucked safely away in a bed. Until we had to start moving again, we were safe. We were hidden. Brendon was still dead. “Just try not to think about it.”

It was an impossible request, but I hoped sleep would bring Ryan some peace. I was hoping it’d bring some to me as well. Just a few hours where I could think that nothing could stop us and no one knew who we were; maybe even I’d have the luxury of forgetting.

* * *

The next morning, I was awake before Ryan. We were both still sharing the pillow, our feet tangled and hands in a similar mess between us. I reached behind me blindly and felt around for my glasses, putting them on to get a clearer look at Ryan’s face. His expression was slack and lips parted slightly as he breathed slowly. His eyes, though, were pressed together tightly, his eyebrows furrowing and relaxing repeatedly. He muttered quietly to himself in no language that I could understand.

“Ryan.” I shook my other hand free from his and placed it on his shoulder, shaking the chilled skin poking out from the blankets. “Ryan, please don’t start screaming.” I was only half joking, hoping my voice would wake him and he’d laugh at my directness.

“Fuck off.” He groaned, his face twisting with the retort.

“Good to know you’re sharp this early in the morning.” I laughed, brushing hair back behind his ear.

Ryan’s hand moved up to rest on my cheek, clumsily trying to cup the side of my face. His fingers bumped into my glasses lightly before his hand retreated down my face. It rested on my neck, his cold fingers splaying out across it, fingertips resting over my pulse point. His thumb rested under my jaw, pressing up against a part that made my throat tickle and sting. It was then that I realized Ryan _wasn’t_ awake.

Ryan’s fingers closed around my neck sharply, my realization only giving me a split second to gasp for breath before it was squeezed from me. Ryan’s eyes were still pressing firmly shut and his head shifted back and forth as if he was avoiding something. And it wasn’t my hands.

“R-R-an!” I sputtered, kicking my feet and beating my hand on his arm. “Yo-Your cho-” I could barely get any words in, Ryan’s fingers growing tighter, no fear showing in his eyes to loosen his surprising grip. Before, I had the benefit of intact morals and consequences staring my father in the face. Now, Ryan was blind to whatever nightmare was playing behind his eyes, painting me the villain.

My open hand slapping his shoulder became a fist as white dots started to blot my vision. I was leaning back as far as I could, Ryan’s one arm only being able to reach so far before I could fall from his gasp. I kept twisting away from Ryan, eventually feeling his thumb slide along the underside of my jaw. I quickly reached up with both hands to try and get my fingertips between the web of his thumb and my throat.

“S-Stop. W-Wake _up_.” I coughed, my pull breaking his thumb from my neck. I gasped loudly and pulled on Ryan’s hand, the grip going loose immediately.

Ryan blinked awake with wide, startled eyes. He seemed barely aware of any part of his body as he came to, his chest heaving as if he had been pulled to the surface after nearly drowning. It only took his eyes refocusing a moment later for Ryan to see where his hand had been. He pulled away from me, crippling fear seizing his face and making his mouth drop down in horror as he gasped.

“I’m so sorry.” He breathed, pulling his hands to his chest and staring down at them, their function autonomous and foreign. “Brendon, fuck. I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I allowed my vision to clear and breathing to stabilize before I answered, trying to clear the scratch out of my throat before speaking. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Ryan rebutted. “I’ve never done that before… I didn’t know… I would have… _Fuck_.”

“I’m okay, Ryan.” I told him honestly, pushing myself up to sit in bed. “Really. Just scared.”

“Did I hurt you?” Ryan asked, sitting up and staring at the prints my own fingers traced. “I mean… besides the obvious… A-Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive, Ryan.” I nodded, feeling my heart rate drop. I was still frightening, but more from the initial shock than the current moment. “I’m okay.”

“No. No, you’re not. I shouldn’t have- fuck, Brendon. I know sorry doesn’t help but-”

“ _Ryan_.” I said firmly, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay, really… I’m actually... a little bit more worried about you.” Ryan was completely mortified by his actions- they weren’t his own. I was no longer in danger, but Ryan was proving to be one for himself. “I think we should tell Spencer.”

“No.” Ryan responded defiantly. “That’ll undo everything.” Ryan shook his head and ran his hands through his hair hurriedly. “He’ll want us to come home or something. We can’t stop now.”

“I’m not saying we _stop_ , I’m just saying-”

“No.” Ryan all but shouted at me, his shoulders tensing as he cut me off. “This isn’t about me anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I placed my hand out in the space between us, waiting for Ryan to feel guiltless about his own to place one in mine. “Not _about_ you?”

“I don’t matter. It’s about getting _you_ somewhere safe and making sure they don’t fucking _find you_.” Ryan explained, looking at me with that same terrified look he had on his face the morning before, taking in every one of my features and realizing he couldn’t have stopped following my every step toward decline if he tried. I had the same look on my face too, I was sure.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” I said shortly. “We both said we’d leave. You aren’t my fucking _driver_ , Ryan. You are part of this too and if you are-.”

“I didn’t say I _wasn’t_.” Ryan sighed, clenching his jaw. “I just _mean_ that you have something larger at risk-”

“Ryan, you have dreams that make you nearly choke people, and you scream in your sleep.” I laid the facts out clearly for him, my tone sharp and slightly bitter. Ryan covered his face and sighed a quiet ‘I know’. “We have to do something for you too. You get to start over too.” I reached over and placed a hesitant hand on his back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I’ll be better, I promise.” Ryan said to me, sniffling and straightening his posture. “I won’t make you deal with this.”

“Ryan-”

“I am tired of carrying this. It’s really something I want to unpack… But that doesn’t mean I want you to start carrying it next.” He looked at the distance that had grown between the two of us on the bed, his face falling.

“Maybe there’s something we can do…” I offered, moving into the void separating us. The space that before, was uncharted but now I could slip into comfortably, my arm resting around Ryan’s shoulders and pulling him into my side. “But first, I think we should eat something.”

Ryan laughed quietly, turning his head to look at me. “Thank you.” His eyes lowered slowly. “You sure your neck is okay?”

“Really.” It barely hurt, only the tingling feeling of pressure remaining over me. “I don’t feel a thing.”

“Okay… I’m-”

“I know.” I nodded, pushing the blankets back and shifting back over to my side to get out of bed.

I stood and walked around the bed, on my way to the bathroom, and before I could even place a foot on the floor, Ryan had his eyes closed, finger rubbing imaginary dirt out of them. I grabbed the backpack as I passed it and brought it with me into the bathroom. I placed it on the sink, digging around for clothes that were more so mine than Ryan’s as the hot water ran in the shower. There was a simple black, short sleeve t-shirt at the very bottom and I placed it next to a pair of light wash jeans- they looked longer than any legs I had, but I’d just be sitting in a car for most of the day; it didn’t matter.

I stepped under the hot water, the shower slightly cramped and just long enough for my arm to extend without my back having to be flush against the wall. Day one. First day as a full free Brendon Urie. First day of the living dead- and the slow death of the living. I couldn’t, in any good conscience, let Ryan go without any help. I didn’t know what in the hell I could do for him, but if we were dumb enough to stick together and literally run from a mistake that has forever altered how my life will play out, it was my job to take care of him just as much as he was for me. Ryan said that he loved me and who I reminded him to be; maybe it was time I did a little more vocal reminding; it’s what he did.

I stepped out of the shower and quickly dressed, knowing that Ryan was unable to get dressed if I had the whole backpack. I knocked on the door before swinging it back open. Ryan was standing by the rocking chair, jeans back on and hands carding through his hair, trying to tame the curls popping up in the back. His hands busied over his left temple for a moment before slipping back through his hair. I tried to ignore the way his entire body seemed to grow long and tight against his ribs as he stretched upwards.

“Hey, my hair’s getting pretty long- maybe I can start tying it back.” Ryan said jokingly, holding a fistful of it behind his head.

“Please don’t.” I winced, throwing the first shirt that poked out the top of the rustled-through bag. “It doesn’t flatter your face; you can see more of it.”

“You little piece of shit.” Ryan laughed, swatting the shirt down and reaching for me instead. His fingers poked at my sides again. I held the bag up in defense, trying to use it as a shield. He didn’t reach for me any further, his hands pulling away from me quickly. “Where does a sweet little Mormon learn all these quick-witted responses?”

“I’m in love with the biggest asshole in the Las Vegas area.” I responded, pushing the bag against his chest, continuing to tease him and trying to get him to see the joy and comfort on my face. “You pick a few things up; not so sweet anymore.”

“I know.” Ryan let his hands fall from my sides as he placed them on the bag, taking it from me. “I am well aware what I have been doing to you.”

I suppressed a smile and shoved the bag into him again. “Put a shirt on. You aren’t getting out of telling Spencer with flirting.” Ryan opened his mouth to argue but ended up grinning instead, my ability to stand equal with him similar to that of Spencer’s. He was never without challenge.

Ryan buttoned up a simple white shirt quickly, stepping into his shoes as he did. Both of us, after making sure the backpack was nearly repacked, brushed our teeth, standing at the sink, shoulder to shoulder. Ryan placed the arm not used to work his toothbrush loosely around my waist, leaning against me lightly. Living together already, knowing how to share space with expertise; survival instinct. After our toothbrushes were back in the bag, and the bag resting on my shoulders, we grabbed the key and opened the door.

Luckily, the woman who owned the place was already standing outside the door, hand raised to knock.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ryan gasped, a hand grabbing his chest. I elbowed him in the back, shooting a look to him through the back of his head. “Sorry- _darn, you scared me_.”

“So sorry! I just wanted to let you know that breakfast is being served. Hate for you boys to miss a warm meal.” She grinned, still awkwardly hovering in our presence.

“Thanks.” Ryan said awkwardly in return, unsure how to precede with her commentary. “We’ll be right down.”

“Excellent-”

“Wait.” I called, stepping out from behind Ryan, stopping her as she went to walk to the next room. “Do you have a phone?” Ryan shifted nervously beside me, his hand bumping into mine.

“Downstairs, in the foyer by the mantle.” She replied, although her tone sounded worried. “If you need, uh, _privacy_ , there is one in the back room, near the kitchen.”

“Great.” I nodded, grabbing Ryan’s hand and starting toward the stairs. “Thank you.”

I pulled Ryan down the stairs for a change, my short and fast stride still somewhat a challenge for his consistently smooth pace. Our landing on the first floor was greeted with the confused stares of eight people, none under the age of forty. All eyes landed on me quickly, taking me in. Recognizing me. I froze, my breath slipping out in a slow hiss as I was sure I had single handedly ruined everything Ryan had tried to promise me. Ryan couldn’t very well protect me from myself, though.

“Good morning.” Ryan said sarcastically, all eyes suddenly on him. They looked at Ryan the same way they had stared at me; it had nothing to do recognition. Their eyes looked at our linked hands the same way. “Hope everyone is having a blessed day.” He pushed past me to walk towards the other room, presumably the kitchen. “Stop staring, we aren’t a zoo.” He muttered, winding around the china cabinets to get to the end of a small, cramped hallway by the kitchen.

The telephone was yellow, the numbers in a dial with an unpolished and scratched metal frame surrounding each number. I placed our bag by our feet, the two of us standing on either side of the wall, our toes pressing against the other’s. Ryan looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“I can’t call Spencer.” I admitted, holding my hands up. “I don’t know the phone number.” I lived in the house for nearly half of a year and I refused to let myself learn the phone number that could accidentally link Ryan or Spencer to me.

“You can still hold the phone.” Ryan said, trying to avoid the responsibility of admitting his actions to the one person who wouldn’t let him just blame himself; Spencer would have a plan. “I’ll just dial.” He handed me the receiver and I nodded, holding it near my ear, trying to keep it between the two of us. Ryan dialed the number quickly and we were left standing in abrupt silence as the phone rang the other end. “Guess he’s not-”

“ _Ryan_?” Spencer had barely let it ring three times, his voice exasperated as he answered.

“Hey, Spencer!” Ryan laughed, answering his voice automatically. “Happy Birthday, man. Miss you already.”

“I miss you too.” Spencer said, his tone full of sadness. “How are you?”

“Great-“

“Spencer, I think we need your help.” I cut in. “Because I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Do you need me? Where are you?” Spencer was suddenly frantic, noise crowding his voice, like he was shuffling around. “Is everyone safe?”

“No one’s hurt.” I answered, revealing more information by not answering any of Spencer’s questions.

“What happened.” Spencer asked slowly. Ryan covered his face; he knew it was his turn.

“It happened again, Spencer.” Ryan muttered. “Twice in like, a week.”

“A dream?” Spencer’s ability to understand Ryan from states away amazed me. Even if it was about something Ryan never explained to him. “What happened?”

“Just… had too much to think about before going to sleep…” Ryan explained tensely. “Brendon… The whole _death_ thing…”

“Whose death?” I asked. “Mine or your dad’s.”

“Oh, _Ryan_.” Spencer sighed on the other line.

“It’s _fine-_ ”

“He woke up trying to choke me.” I stated, deciding that the truth was the most powerful aid- as well as weapon.

“Oh, Ryan.” I could all but hear Spencer sink into a chair at the dining table. A plain, wooden chair without a single memory attached to it.

“I’m okay though.” I clarified. “We’re asking for help.”

“Help for what?” Spencer asked, sounding helpless. “That’s not… I don’t know what to say… Ryan, why didn’t you say anything? Get some help or something? That’s… That’s never happened before.”

“I’ve never been sleeping with someone when it happens.” Ryan admitted. “I was just… _dreaming_ , and then I don’t know… it felt _real_ and I… I woke up to Brendon…. I don’t know what happened. It’s the same dream I always have-”

“It’s always the same?”

“Yeah, Spencer…” Ryan sighed and held his temples between his thumb and middle finger. “You remember it too. When I was like, seventeen.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“ _Fuck_. Uh, I decided to not only bring home a college application, but the boy behind it.” Ryan rested his elbow against the wall, still holding his head. “And he ripped that up and then nearly knocked both me and Pete into next week.”

“It’s the same one.” Spencer echoed, suddenly understanding the vision Ryan was pinching his eyes to hide from me. He finally got the truth. “Ryan, you can’t hold onto that forever.”

“Gee, thanks, Spencer.” Ryan spat back. “I nearly hurt the one person that knows all the _shit_ that has happened to me, and has decided to love me back and try and _help_ me and you just tell me to let it go.” At first, I was under the impression Ryan was talking about Spencer until the line went silent, and I realized Ryan had _actually_ referred to me. Admitting to Spencer that he loved me; Ryan had finally opened himself up to someone _other_ than Spencer, and to the possibility that I could understand him a little better in some places.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Spencer said without venom. “I just mean…” Spencer had a perspective that was far more objective and honest than what was possibly appropriate, but he always chose to share it with Ryan. “He’s going to die- he _is_ dying, Ryan. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Brendon’s life experience is somehow convincing me that death isn’t as final as we all thought.” Ryan retorted. “He’ll figure something out.”

“Beat him to it.” I said. “I never got to, but, why don’t you tell him off?”

“ _Now that’s not what I said-_ ”

“You know I can’t.” Ryan let his hand fall from his face as he looked at me. “I have to let him die with _dignity_.”

Before, I understood Ryan’s honorable reasons to try and release all the hate inside him and take the higher road to remain the man that took a free hour that his father wasn’t home to pack his life up and change it around, but that man was the one who gave up the ocean and his dreams. That _boy_ let his poetry be sold for cigarettes and hopeful goals be burned to the ground. The boy that dreamed, the one that was running away with me, the one I saw in small glimpses just as our eyes closed, our shared warmth lulling us to sleep, wouldn’t let anyone get a grip on his dreams. No matter how cold and dead.

“Why the fuck do you have to do that? No one let me die with any.”

“To be fair, they killed you.” Spencer tried to calm down the scheme forming in my tone. “Now, let’s think about this-”

“What would I say?” Ryan tried to sound neutral, like he was trying to accuse my idea of being without evidence, but I heard the curiosity. It was the same question that buzzed in my head whenever I thought about the possibility of being found and handed back to my parents.

“Ryan, how would saying anything to him benefit you? Wouldn’t it just make you more-”

“I never…. Like…. I never _told him_ I was gay.”

“ _What_?” I didn’t think Ryan _had_ to. He had burned posters and kicked out boyfriends and spewed slurs; his father definitely _knew_. I didn’t know what Ryan wanted from the knowledge.

“I- I never _told_ him. Like, he knew. He figured it out. But, I never said it out loud. Never said it and got the last word in.”

“Well, do you want to?” I let the receiver lower from our faces as Spencer was no longer going to influence this conversation. I knew what it was like to have the one truth you wanted to say be ripped from your throat and instead plastered across your chest; a battle wound you were ashamed of. “Let him die knowing he never changed you?”

“Yes.”

“Now, Ryan, I don’t know if this is a-”

“I’m doing it.” Ryan’s eyes were suddenly glowing, the fire already burning inside him. I could see it growing, but I didn’t see an ounce of smoke. “What hospital? Desert Springs, right?”

“Ryan-”

“I love you, Spencer. I’ll call you tomorrow. Have a good birthday. Hug the twins for me.” Ryan responded, taking the phone from me and placing it back on the receiver.

“Where’s Desert Springs?” I asked, picking up the bag.

“That’s back home.” Ryan responded quietly, biting his lip nervously. “We have to go back.”

“Then we’ll go back.” It was a very obvious plan.

“But that’s the main hospital, Brendon. They probably brought your body there.” Ryan reasoned, suddenly trying to back out. “It’s a _stupid_ idea. We can’t let that many people see you. No. We can’t. I’ll just let him-”

“We’re going.” I rebutted, turning to start walking away. Ryan grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the corner.

“Wait. Just-” Ryan looked at me, his hands hovering around my face, disbelief crumpling his features. “How do you keep going back? Doesn’t it… Doesn’t it hurt?” Once Ryan left, he hadn’t taken another step in his house or in his father’s presence since. This was going to be his first time laying eyes on his father in _four_ years.

“No.” I tried to remember the feelings that overtook me as I walked through Summerlin with Ryan, looking at the town missing a person they never met. “It actually makes it easier; they can’t make up a vision of you anymore. You come back and set the record straight. And then you still get to leave everyone behind; they don’t chase you out.”

“Okay.” Ryan sighed, nodding his head, trying to image the thought. “Are you _positive_ you want to go?”

I laughed and held Ryan’s face, making sure he was looking at me and my transparent sincerity. “Ryan, if we have to go back to move forward, I’d be more than happy to go with you. It’ll only be, what? A day, and then we’ll be on our way. We’ll get to New York. It will all be worth it.”

“I love you.” Ryan sighed, leaning in to kiss me softly, pulling away as he heard footsteps crossing the end of the hallway. “Thank you.”

“Your father would _hate_ me.” I retorted playfully, tapping Ryan on the chest lightly before turning away to start walking to the living area again.

“I know.” Ryan chuckled, grabbing my hand to keep me from walking too far. “I love it. Can’t wait to show you off.”

“Really wish I could too… I feel like my sisters would really like you.” I noted, allowing myself the moment of impossible fantasy; Ryan sitting in my living room, arm around my shoulders and hand resting on my leg as he laughed at a childhood tale being spun by my family. Ryan standing in the kitchen, sleeves roll back as he stood attentively by my mother’s side, hands ready to start helping her as she instructed. Ryan waiting until my father had finally gone to sleep, the living room lamp only have been dimmed for a moment before he would be climbing the stairs, sneaking up to my room.

Everything was a fantasy and a complete lie, but it all felt real to me. In some other world, Ryan was able to enter my world completely instead the two of us having to abandon our own to make one for just the two of us.

The living room was still just as busy as when we came down from the stairs. The four couples sat on the clawfoot couches, empty plates resting on the coffee table and coffee mugs raised half to their mouths. Ryan and I were obviously the ones that didn’t belong in the situation, hovering awkwardly in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. Ryan tried to break the ice with a smile, but all of them were fixated on our new faces showing up in a town that had a population that never approached a thousand.

“You boys interested in breakfast?” The owner of the hotel came walking up behind us, two plates in her hands. “I made pancakes.” She didn’t wait for our response and put the plates into our free hands shortly.

“Thank you.” I smiled, nodding my head before pulling Ryan along and heading for the empty couch closest to the stairs.

There was an elderly man at the far end, sipping his tea cup and watching us over the rim carefully. Ryan dropped my hand and held his plate steadily as he sat down beside me, our knees bumping against one another. Ryan placed his plate on his lap, eyeing the other people in the room as they remained silent.

“Can I _help_ anyone?” Ryan spat. “I mean, I have had _quite_ the morning so if anyone wants to add to it, I’m more than happy to initiate the conversation.”

“Ryan,” I placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull them down from their risen and tensed position.  “it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. If you’ve got something to fucking say-”

“ _Ryan_.”

“Go on now.” Ryan said to the shocked room. The man at the other end of the couch slowly lowered his tea cup, placing it on the table in front him. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him, head cocked and leaning forward. “Never seen a real _fag_ before, have you?”

“No.” He said, blinking slowly. He stood and held a hand out to Ryan. “Rick Sorenson. Pleasure.”

Ryan stared at the hand, both of us unsure of the gesture. “Uh, Ryan. Hi.”

“And who is this young man?” At least he didn’t already know.

“This is my boyfriend, Brendon.”

“Hi.” I waved shyly, fiddling with the fork lying across my plate.

“Are you moving into Littlefield?” A woman asked, looking at us with a faint smile.

“No. No, we are not.” Ryan said almost too quickly. “Just passing through.”

“There was a death… In the family.” I added. Ryan looked at me with a tight expression and placed a hand on my knee- half to keep up the appearance, and half to keep it from bouncing my plate right onto the floor.

“Oh, that’s dreadful.” Rick said, placing a strong hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “My condolences. Were they sick too?”

“Too?” I repeated, furrowing my eyebrows.

I turned to look at Ryan, and for the first time, saw him through eyes other than my own. There were about eight other sets that were taking him in and finally showing the tired, dimming look in his eyes and darkening circles under them. The thin face I typically saw with a broad smile was now revealed to be far bonier. They thought Ryan was sick. If anyone was going to be pointed out and thought to be diagnosed with a disease that seemed to put you synonymous with a particular community, it was going to be Ryan apparently. Brendon didn’t look the part of the victim just yet.

“Ryan’s not sick.” I clarified. The room seemed to communally sigh with relief. Well, that explained the staring and the fear. “He’s just…”

“Hungry.” Ryan finished, lifting his fork and quickly ending the conversation.

“I’ll grab you some coffee.” Rick said, hurrying off toward the kitchen. “Margaret, is there any more coffee left?”

Ryan looked at me with a side glance as he bowed his head to begin to eat his food. He didn’t speak a word, but I nodded and agreed with everything he communicated. Out of the two of us, we both assumed it would be _me_ that would have things from their past involuntarily pointed out and put on display; Ryan wasn’t completely off the hook though. He lived so long with Spencer, and then me- two people that knew his past and knew what to expect and to see- that when he stepped outside his bubble, the world saw every scar and every memory without ever having to see the specifics flash across his eyes. The fearful next step was if it began to happen to me; that’s what we were hoping to outrun.

We ate slowly, Rick returning with two cups of coffee and quiet small talk for the rest of the room. The pancakes were warm and mostly air, the butter coating the top sweetening the hearty batter. It tasted overwhelmingly of home.

“How are they?” I asked, placing my fork down to grab the mug at the edge of the table.

“They’re okay.” Ryan shrugged, swallowing and looking at me with a moderately satisfied expression. His eyes were dim and staring down at the food he poked absently. “They’re no Smith pancakes.”


	7. The Second and Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter and then the epilogue! Update schedule is still changed to Wednesday and Sunday. Almost there!  
> This chapter doesn't have anything to tag, but if the confrontation of an abuser is something that you don't want to read, that lies ahead for you.  
> (Also, this chapter has a reference to one of my favorite books-and apparently Ryan's- can you catch it?)

“You know how to drive?”

We were on our way back to Nevada, Ryan obviously trying to distract himself with small talk. In his last breath, he had just finished asking me to explain the entire functionality of the Mormon Church to him.

“Kind of.” I answered, shifting and resting my knees against the dashboard, our home-cooked breakfast still sitting wonderfully heavy in my stomach. “I mean, I learned a little bit. But I never got the chance to get a real license."

“Really?” Ryan looked over at me with a surprised expression.

“Definitely couldn’t drive this car.” I added. “Never learned how to drive stick.”

“Want to learn?” Ryan returned, his expression shifting into a smirk.

“I mean, what? Now?” I sputtered. Ryan had a streak of impulsivity that was slowly beginning to show itself. A streak of dangerous habits was also apparently a part of it. “On an actual road in broad daylight?”

“We aren’t on any major highway yet.” Ryan reasoned. “You could pick up for the next few miles."

“Ryan, that’s the worst idea.” I laughed, trying to sound playful but instead just sounding nervous. “You don’t know how well I drive- that’s a ridiculous idea.”

“I know a thing or two to have the premonition that you _might_ get the hang of driving stick pretty quickly.” Ryan spared no suggestiveness in his tone.

“You’re an asshole.” I shoved his side and laughed, shaking my head and turning away from him.

“And you have great hand-eye coordination.” Ryan added with perfect innocence. “What did you _think_ I meant?” Ryan’s one eyebrow arched as he threw another look over to me.

“The answer is still no.” I stated. “There are better ways to take a break from driving. Or delay our arrival. And it doesn’t have to be _as_ illegal.”

“It’s not illegal if they don’t pull us over.” Ryan countered. “I’m just your overly naïve brother teaching you a few pointers about _manly things_ , such as driving.”

I laughed again and bumped Ryan’s arm. “In that situation, the cops pulled us over for illegal driving and you are _still_ somehow focused only on convincing them we aren’t gay.”

“Old habits die hard.” Ryan admitted, twisting his hands on the steering wheel. “Well, actually. They die of cirrhosis of the liver, but _same thing_.”

Ryan was joking with the idea of his father and their re-collision far too much; the noise happening between his ears was starting to tumble out of his mouth. We agreed to the thought in the moment, the burning hate smoldering inside Ryan finally catching the spark caused by sudden fear and lack of control. The consequences caught up to us far slower. We were being absolute fools, but with the other beside us, everything felt right. We lost all gauge for sanity.

“Ryan, are you sure you want to do this?” It was the question I had kept to myself for the entire car ride, trying not to push Ryan one way or the other.

“Want to?” Ryan echoed. “No. Should I? Probably… I probably should.” Ryan nodded, convincing himself all over again. “Spencer’s right; can’t hold onto it forever.”

Ryan was simultaneously trying to talk himself out of his old ways of thinking- the ones that consumed him on his childhood street, making him sink to his knees and ask the universe, ask _God_ , why it had to be his father first- while also clutching to those same ones for comfort. It was going against everything Ryan had gotten himself to think for the past decade. But I suppose we were all looking at where it had all gotten him, and we were trying to stop him from dying with his father. The ocean was meant to free him, not drown him.

“You mean, what _I_ have to do?” My situation was probably only making things clearer for Ryan. Either way, if he went first or his dad did, there would be things left unsaid. Words that were spilled in journals and on bathroom floors. Words that deserved to be spoken, against all better judgement.

“You can say something to him too.” Ryan said, trying to look at me while also checking his mirrors as he started merging onto the highway. “I mean, I’m sure he’ll have a few things to say to you too.” It was something I hadn’t considered.

“You think?” I tried not to sound worried. “You think he’ll… say something _back_?”

“George always has the last word.” Ryan told me. “Our job is to make sure he thinks of them when we’re out of the room.”

“I have had very little practice.” My last words were still hanging in the air in my kitchen, never to come down.

“Well, whatever you wanted to say to your dad, I’m sure applies to mine.” Ryan laughed. “They aren’t that different.”

That was like comparing a paper cut to a stab wound. Yes, mine stung and it burned and it scared me how something so small could bring so much discomfort and pain. But Ryan was still actively bleeding, nothing healing, the only attempt to stop the damage were his hands pressing against it. Both were unsuspected, but at least mine was from handling myself carelessly. Ryan’s resulted from a blind entrance into a standoff he hadn’t prepared for. The blade came out and slashed his skin before he even knew it was a consequence and not a preemptive strike. Our fathers weren’t the same. I had no idea what Ryan had been through, and Ryan could only stand and watch me stagger through this new world crumbling around me.

“I think I’ll just stand there; let you do all the talking.” I told him, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you’ve got quite a bit to say.”

“Do you think he’ll even let me see him?” Ryan asked slowly, walking through it all in his mind. “I mean, they have to tell him beforehand, right? Like, ‘ _George, your son is here to see you’_ might kill him before the liver failure does.”

“I’m sure they will. You’re probably his first visitor.” I reasoned. “Can’t imagine anyone else leant their time to spend the afternoon with him.”

Ryan hummed in agreement, changing lanes and riding in the right most lane; he was in no rush to speed through the highway and arrive in Nevada. Cars passed us, a few seemingly craning their necks to see what could be so nonchalant about driving across state lines at only eleven in the morning. I shifted in my seat again, folding my legs up onto it. The extra length of the jeans meant to accommodate Ryan’s legs folded and pooled around my ankles. I smoothed it slowly, the shifting denim filling the silence of the car; the radio still wasn’t invited to join our private bubble, shifting between worlds. After everything was smoothed out, I sat up straight in my car, reaching up to adjust the seat belt pressing against the side of my neck uncomfortably.

“Does it still hurt?” Ryan asked quietly, his eyes landing on my neck the minute he glanced over at me. “I don’t see any bruises…”

“I told you I’m fine.” I repeated.

“I know… I just,” Ryan cleared his throat and looked in his mirrors at the empty street of road behind us. “I’m sorry I made you relive that this morning… I didn’t think that I would… It’s been the same dream for years and-” Ryan stopped and pressed his lips together abruptly.

“ _And_?” I nodded, waving my hand around to try and stir up Ryan’s words.

“And I was making excuses.” He said quietly. “There are none."

I went to argue, but I could see in the reflection of his eyes that this was going to be something that Ryan would never let become forgotten or forgiven. He had a habit of holding grudges- just this time he was holding it against himself. There was nothing I could do to convince him otherwise. Ryan had found a new enemy. He lived so long with the same one fueling his every decision, now he was on his way to free himself from that, only to pick a new villain to scare and question his every choice. I’d just have to intervene the best I could with the monster I couldn’t seem to find.

Ryan shifted over to the left most lane and I could feel the consequence as Ryan let his foot lower closer to the floor.

Eventually, signs began to crop up on the right side of the road, alerting us of the exits to take in order to get to Desert Springs Medical Center. We couldn’t get lost if we tried; our true North was the most terrifying line in the sand. Seeing it in the distance was like the emergence of a tidal wave, growing and growing, threatening to crash down on us, but we kept paddling closer. Ryan had every opportunity to drive past it and change his mind, but he steered us into the parking lot of the hospital. He turned the car off, the keys jingling in his hands as they fiddled in his lap. It was the same hesitance I had before stepping out of the house, knowing that it was the first step as a different person you started your day as. For me, it was my first step of lies and deception; my first step running. For Ryan, he was coming back. His second return, and I was hoping he’d regret it far less.

“Are you ready?” I asked, reaching back to grab our backpack; I’d need something to cover my hair and skew my appearance if I wanted to walk into a busy medical center without any troubles; we weren’t out of the clear yet. We actually were more in the middle of trouble than we had ever been before.

“Sure.” Ryan said without any conviction, opening the car door. “I’m ready.”

I scrambled out the other door, tugging a pumpkin colored knitted cap from the very bottom of our backpack onto my head, tucking stray hairs up into it. It was the very end of summer, the temperature still climbing as the day progressed, but I could afford to look strange in order to avoid looking like Brendon. Ryan walked with heavy footsteps, his legs extending for a long stride and shoe thudding against the asphalt. His hands were clenched into fists by his side, arms not swinging as he made his way across the parking lot. He looked over at me, making sure I was keeping up, but never slowing his pace. The automatic doors parted as he approached and let us both walk in without interference. The front lobby was quiet, only a few people sitting in the plastic chairs, and a young man sitting behind the desk with a phone to his ear. Ryan was blind to everyone else in the room but the man at the desk, but I casted a glance at the other people- especially the man and woman standing as we walked in.

“Ryan!” It was Spencer. Of _course_ it was. He walked over to Ryan, grabbing his sleeve and making him meet his gaze. Linda stood behind him, taking in Ryan’s face curiously. This was a first meeting for the ages. “Ryan, I won’t let you do this.” Spencer spoke quietly but with power.

“I am and you can’t stop me, Spencer.” Ryan spat back, ripping his arm out of his grip.

“You haven’t spoken to him in _years_.” Spencer stated, as if the fact was forgotten by all parties. “You can’t just _walk in there-_ ”

“Actually, I think I can.” Ryan argued calmly, digging in his pocket and producing his driver’s license. “See this? See that little _three_ right there? That proves that I am the fucking _trilogy_ in this saga. I’m the last one, and I want to be the one who decides the damn ending, Spencer.”

“I know, but-”

“And I decide that it doesn’t end with me being afraid of him even as he lies cold and dead in his fucking grave.” Ryan declared, a finger poking Spencer’s chest with finality. “And I found a way to do that.”

“So, you’re just going to storm in there with some _choice words_ and make everything better?” Spencer was scrambling to understand Ryan. His words were sharp and mocking, but only because it was his last tactic to steer Ryan away from his plan.

“That six foot piece of human _garbage_ scares the ever living _shit_ out of me, Spencer. But I’ll be fucking _damned_ if he goes to the grave thinking that he still does.” Ryan said defiantly. “He’s gonna know what I thought about his parenting methods. And he’s gonna know I’m still the biggest fag he should be proud to have raised.”

Linda blinked at Ryan, struggling to catch up to the story she mostly likely only heard in short spurts, or possibly not at all. Her eyes fell to me as I placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, trying to ease him from displacing all his anger onto Spencer. Her face furrowed as she studied me as well, trying to place my face and Ryan’s. I was sure she had seen our faces pass through the pharmacy more times than she remembered, but now we were displaying our stories in front of her very eyes.

“Let him go, Spencer.” She said suddenly, wrapping her hand around Spencer’s, keeping it from poking Ryan back. “I don’t think we really understand this.” From an outside perspective, the inferno was confusing. It was a natural disaster that had no root cause. It was a mess and Linda hoped to step aside and let it pass peacefully.

Ryan’s head snapped to look at her. His face softened immediately and his hand fell from Spencer’s chest to extend to her. “Ryan, hi. Sorry for the awful introduction.” He grinned shortly. “I just have a dying relative that I need to argue with one last time.”

“Understood.” She said blankly, shaking his hand and nodding slowly.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.” Spencer echoed, more trying to sway Linda’s opinion than Ryan’s.

“And I really think it is.” Ryan continued, dropping Linda’s hand and swiftly grabbing mine. He tugged me towards the front desk.

“Ryan!” Spencer hissed, trying to stop us one last time. Ryan reached the desk and Spencer hovered behind us, trying not to cause a scene. “I can’t watch this.”

“Can I help you?” The young man asked us. He had since finished his phone call and directed his full attention, and handsome smile, toward us. “Looking for someone?”

“Yes, I am, Lawrence.” Ryan nodded, squinting at his nametag. “Looking for a George Ross.”

“Okay. And you are?”

“His son.” Hearing Ryan admit to being anyone’s child, anyone’s responsibility, sounded strange. It wasn’t a pattern I had ever seen Ryan live in. As awkward as it sounded, Ryan looked just as uncomfortable.

“Ahhh, you must be Ryan.” He seemed pleased, moving some papers around on his desk. “He said you’d come." 

“Excuse me?” Ryan leaned forward, his tone lowering. “What did he say?”

“He said you’d visit him. He’s only had one other visitor, and after her, he said that you’d probably come next.” Lawrence said politely, slightly louder as if Ryan’s problem was his ability to hear. “The woman was here about a month ago, though; your visit will be well appreciated today.” Ryan’s face seemed to relax as the man dug up a paper and pen, requesting his signature.

“ _Ginger_.” He laughed, pressing the pen to the paper. “Can’t imagine what she said to him.”

As friendly and delicate and proper as Ginger presented herself to be, I most definitely didn’t want to be at the receiving end of her fury. Especially someone who all but stole her second son from her, trying to wear him down to just his sore and broken bones. Ginger probably gave about _triple_ what Ryan had packed away. Ryan might have been inferno, but Ginger was a wildfire. George got the worst of it first. And then while he was down, Ryan was going to remind him to stay there; he was half way home.

“He’s on the fourth floor. Room 431. I’m sure he’ll be absolutely delighted to see you.” Lawrence handed Ryan a small clip to put on his shirt, stating that he had business wandering the hospital. Without words, Ryan thumbed over to me. “Is he family as well?”

“No. He’s my partner and I want him to come with me.” Ryan said without hesitation. I tried to keep my expression neutral. Lawrence handed Ryan an extra pass without another word, pointing us towards the elevator.

“I’ll be waiting here for you when you finish.” Spencer said firmly, angry he didn’t win the argument, but more so nervous to what would return to him after.

Ryan lifted a hand to Spencer and Linda, waving and leading me to the elevator. He called the elevator with one hand and gripped my hand in the other. His fingers were trembling and hands were clammy.

“Partner, huh?” I repeated, tugging on Ryan’s hand and trying to lessen the tension growing in his arms. “Since when?”

“I thought it had a more demanding ring than ‘boyfriend’.” Ryan responded how I imagined he would, but his tone was flat and tense. He wasn’t going to be distracted by me. “I’m a fag, don’t fuck with me.”

Ryan was preparing for battle, each step calculated and each breath slow- an attempt to keep himself calm and in control. The elevator beeped each time we rose to another floor, neither of us looking up at the floor level and simply walking out as the doors opened again. Ryan walked quickly, weaving around wandering family members and passing doctors to reach the room. He seemed to have it all mapped out. Without having to ask, Ryan’s confidence was confirming the length of time he spent walking these same floors as a child. How long it took him to memorize his way around- his way out- when he came back from running away when he was fifteen.

We arrived to 431 before I could even read a single room number. Ryan came to a sudden stop just by the door. His grip tightened on my hand and I could hear him gasp. His entire other world laid just beyond that door, bedridden and _waiting._ I had never met the man, but Ryan’s fear radiated onto me. His eyes finally faltered from their constant dead-ahead stare to look down at his feet.

I don’t know how, but we both ended up exactly where we started.

“Are you ready for this?”

“No.” Ryan breathed, looking over at me. “I’m not.” Ryan had never been more honest in his life. His eyes were glistening as he stared down at me, shaking his head with the suddenly overwhelming uncertainty that this was possibly his only chance at any form of closure, and it could end catastrophically. No amount of boiling rage or spiteful grudge could prepare anyone for the moment when they finally get the open space and time to say every word they ever dreamed of spitting at their enemy. But the minute the opportunity arose, every word vanished and stringing together a thought was like grabbing onto smoke.

But for some reason, we both took a step towards the door. Ryan pushed it open and revealed the man of his stories and haunting visions, lying on a hospital bed, eyes focused on the wall across from him. He vaguely resembled Ryan, mostly in his nose and chin. His aged skin was discolored and his hair was graying and, I assumed, falling out. His eyes were a lot more sunken-in and stared around with room with a sense of pulsing darkness- emptiness. They fell on us as Ryan took the first step inside the room, letting the door shut behind us.

“Well, well, well.” His father’s voice was hoarse and slow. It most likely hurt him to speak, but it didn’t seem like he was going to let that stop him. “If it isn’t my own flesh and blood. Finally come to see your father?” Ryan remained silent, still gripping my hand as he crept closer. His eyes were taking in the shriveling man before him, still terrified. His father noted his silence with a smirk, looking away from us. “Who’s the fairy you brought with you." Observant, wasn't he?

“That’s my boyfriend. And you won’t insult him if you want to see those extra three months they are promising you.” Ryan shattered the silence with a response practically whispered, all of us straining to hear it, but with enough force to cause George’s gaze to return to the two of us. “Ah, now who’s speechless.”

“You brought a _fag_ to come see me-”

“No, _Dad_. I brought two.” Ryan replied, letting the corners of his mouth lift into a smirk. His father’s eyes narrowed and he sat up further in his bed, the motion looking like it should have exhausted him. Death frightened and threatened me, but Ryan’s father seemed to take it in strides.

“You _disgust_ me.” He spat at us. I immediately made a motion to step back, my kitchen flickering in the background behind him. “I shouldn’t have let that _woman_ raise you for a minute.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about Ginger like that.” Ryan snapped, stepping up to his father and raising a finger to his face. There was no thinking; only reflexes. “She raised me when your ass was too drunk to do it. You should be fucking thanking her.” Ryan spoke strongly and without hesitation, the fire only being fueled.

“And why should I? She only made you into more of a faggot. You needed a man in that house-”

“Then where the fuck were you?” Ryan argued. “Oh, wait. That’s right. At the bar. Or in the living room, throwing your empty bottles at me when I came in the door from school or tried to come home with a friend- which I only did _once_ in my entire history of living in that house, just to let you know. I had one person over, _Dad_.” Ryan paused for a breath. He squeezed my hand and I could feel Ryan brace himself as he touched the rawest nerve between them. “One _boy_ over.” It was a nightmare for both of them.

I watched as his father’s chest began to heave with anger, stream practically pouring out of his nose and ears; I could see where Ryan’s combustible tendencies came from. “What the fuck is this? Just coming by to wave your damn fag flag in my face?”

“Actually, yes.” Ryan laughed coldly. He tugged on my hand lightly. He was requesting my presence at his father’s bedside. I obeyed slowly, stepping up and standing that much closer to death. “Wanted this to be the last thing you fucking see before you go straight to hell, bastard.”

“I outta-”

George’s left arm swung across his body, his hand open and looking to grab onto something- namely my shirt. Or my throat. With swift confidence and no fear, Ryan’s hand shot across my face and gripped his father’s boney wrist, his fingers digging into the tendons that stretched up his arm.

“You want to rethink those actions, George?” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “I _said_ not to hurt him. Can’t you be around a teenage boy for _five minutes_ without trying to hit him?” I didn’t know this Ryan. I could see how and why it had been buried and hidden. This was the Ryan was split mountains and threw rocks and screamed into the empty sky and demanded to know answers as to why things were happening to him- and expecting the sky to answer.

“You are both fucking freaks. Need to have it beaten it out of you.” He spat in Ryan’s face as he tried to pull his arm from the grip now twisting the ligaments in his wrist around painfully.

“Trust me, if I grew up in your house and still ended up gay, you can’t beat it out of a kid.” Ryan laughed, leaning his face closer to his father’s, practically breathing on him. “I’m _living_ proof.”

“I hope you get that… that fucking Cancer and die.” I witnessed a father wish death unto his son and felt my stomach drop to my feet. It was too much for me to watch. I released Ryan’s hand and let myself step back from the scene. I just wanted to watch, not witness. I had already come close to seeing it all through my own eyes. And then _again_ as my father placed a boy that wasn’t me into the ground with my name noting my place. There was too much death circling us; Ryan and I seemed to be an epicenter.

“That’s very thoughtful,” Ryan chuckled, throwing his father’s arm back at him. “But you’re going to go first, George.” Ryan rested his hand on his father’s bed and leaned over him, making sure he could only look at Ryan. “You’ll go down to the pits of hell that you fucking came from and be punished for every hit, kick, slap, shove, and stitch you ever gave me. I’m going to continue to be the gay son you never wanted. And you’re going to sit in some eternal cesspool with all the other horrible human beings to ever poison the planet.” Ryan leaned in an inch closer, leaning more towards his father’s ear, breaking the eye contact his father was suddenly struggling to keep. “The horror. _The horror_.” Ryan stood back up and looked down at his father, who was somehow speechless and still under his stare. Ryan finally reached up to wipe the spit off his face, turning to look at me. “Let’s go, Brendon.”

“How _dare_ you talk to me like this. I am your father.” He shouted after Ryan, practically trying to reach over the railing on the bed to grip Ryan’s shirt. Ryan floated away gracefully and reached out for my hand.

“Come on.” His tone was soft as he took my hand. “Let’s get out of here. Get you home.” Ryan meant a city we both had never been to, thousands of miles away, but for once, as we made that final exit from that part of Ryan’s life, it felt like home. We were finally going somewhere. We were leaving without being chased. I was in my grave and the worst part of Ryan’s life was sealing his own with every heaving breath.

I waited until we were both standing in the elevator before I spoke. “Was it worth it?”

“You know, I’ve told him to drop dead before,” Ryan sounded thoughtful as he stared at the doors. “But with that _actually_ being a possibility, that felt a lot better. It was finally a threat. I finally had power over him… He couldn’t do a damn thing to me if Death had him by the balls.” Ryan laughed, but it sounded empty.

It was funny then, how Ryan and I were in completely opposite positions. Death was providing him with freedom and the dissipation of memories that were becoming etched over his eyes, while death was pinning me down and keeping me just six feet from my future.

I tugged my hat down as the elevator reached the bottom floor, Ryan taking a deep breath before the doors opened. Spencer was all but nose to nose with the doors, waiting for our return. He stepped back slowly as Ryan and I stepped off the elevator, watching us with wide eyes.

“Well?”

“Went well.” Ryan said, nodding. “We calmly discussed our differences in his parenting techniques, came to a _lovely_ conclusion, and I made it perfectly clear that if he hurts anyone ever again, I’ll personally be the one to deliver him to the gates of hell, smile and all.”

Spencer blinked at Ryan and pressed his lips together. He nodded slowly, his hands wringing in front of him. “Of course.”

“Needed to do that, Spencer.”

“How do you know that isn’t just going to make all your visions _worse-_ ”

“Don’t you get it?” Ryan cried, laughing hollowly at Spencer’s floundering. “I _won_ , Spencer. In this moment, right now? I fucking won. He didn’t lay a hand on anyone and he didn’t get an inch under my skin. I am walking away unscathed.” Ryan took a deep breath. The ghost that had been chasing Ryan and warping his reality as he passed between the dream world and our own was finally laid to rest back in its proper body. “I’m okay.”

Spencer stared at Ryan’s face for a moment, watching the sincere smile appear on his face, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Ryan. Spencer’s buried his face into Ryan’s shoulder, Ryan’s hands going up to rest on Spencer’s back. Slowly, Spencer’s shoulders began to shake. Linda’s hand reached out and rested between Ryan’s on Spencer’s back. Ryan leaned away from Spencer, trying to see his face only to see a smile nearly severing his cheeks- he was laughing.

Ryan looked at him with furrowing eyes, starting to laugh himself at Spencer’s response. The laughter was uncontrollable, even Linda beginning to chuckle at the tension that was being pushed away with our ripples of happiness. Like the tides of the ocean pushing a sunken ship back to the shore, enjoying its returned free and uninterrupted vastness. A weight had been lifted off of Ryan, but the same had happened to Spencer and we hadn’t even cared to notice. He was able to start his nineteenth year by saying goodbye to the man that had loitered in every memory of his best friend for nearly all of his life.

“Glad you’re okay, Ryan.” Spencer sighed, placing his hands on Ryan’s face, his hands slapping him lightly. “The last Ross stands. Proud and tall.”

“You got the tall part down-”

“Excuse me?” A tall man hovered over my shoulder, startling me as he spoke. I turned and stepped closer to Ryan, taking him in. He was taller than Ryan by at least a few inches. His black hair was slicked back professionally and his features were sharp and strong- it was in stark contrast with the polite smile growing in the face of eight eyes staring back at him. He had a gray suit on, nicely pressed and fitted impressively well. He gripped a briefcase in one hand, a manila folder tucked under the same arm. “Don’t meant to interrupt, but are you George Ross’s son?”

“Who’s asking?” Ryan asked, turning and looking around at the empty waiting room. The man at the desk had stepped away and could be seen outside the glass doors smoking a cigarette.

“Alec Leva.” His hand was suddenly reaching out to Ryan, both of us recoiling quickly only to realize he was trying to shake Ryan’s hand. He met him half way. “Your father’s lawyer.”

“My father doesn’t have a lawyer.” Ryan said firmly. “He was never sober enough to trust the law system.”

The man laughed nervously, but chose his words wisely. “Well, since being hospitalized, he’s sobered up quite a bit.” His hand was still extended to Ryan. “I’m handling his final expenses.”

“Ah, I see.” Ryan nodded, taking Alec’s hand.

“Now, George, is there a place we can-”

“My name is Ryan.” Ryan corrected as he released his hand. “I don’t go by George.”

“Oh.” Alec moved swiftly, like he was rushing himself. He reached for the folder resting under his other arm, letting it fall open on his hand as he looked at the top page. “Is that what the ‘R’ stands for. George R. Ross?”

“Smart guy.” Ryan muttered to me, looking over his shoulder.

“Mister… uh, _Ryan_.” The man cleared his throat and reshuffled his papers around, somehow just taking notice to me as Ryan spoke. He looked at Spencer and Linda briefly. “Ryan, is there a place that we can talk privately?”

“Actually no.” Ryan showed every bit of interest he didn’t have in talking to the man. “I’m on my way out of town.”

“Oh.” He nodded shortly and seemed unaware of how to proceed with Ryan’s response. “Uh, well, Ryan… I think you know what we need to discuss.”

“I don’t.” Ryan replied, shrugging. “So, if you want to cut the charade and talk as if you aren’t hurting my feelings; I don’t care the man is dying.”

“O-Oh.” Even as he blinked, his eyes fluttered quickly, like he was resetting his brain, resetting his frame of mind for the professional conversation he was attempting to conduct. “Well, you’re his son-”

“Nothing new.”

“-and that means that you are the next of kin.” He began searching for a paper in the folder again, placing the briefcase down as he paged through the file. “You get everything.”

“What does that mean?” Spencer sounded nervous; every final payment for burying his father would fall on Ryan’s shoulders. One last kick while he was already down.

“All his assets. They go into your name.” Alec found a paper and closed the folder, picking up his briefcase again.

“My father doesn’t have anything to his damn name.” Ryan sounded confident and bitter.

“This begs to differ.” Alec held out a sheet of paper nearly filled with lines of items I wasn’t fast enough to catch before the paper transferred into Ryan’s hands.

“Holy shit.” Ryan breathed, holding the paper up to his face. We all stepped in, peering over Ryan’s shoulders to see the paper.

“No fucking shit.” Spencer muttered, running a hand through his hair. “George fucking fooled us all.”

“Where did he even _get_ all this?” Ryan was skimming over the paper, quickly handing it back over to Alec. “My father was a drunk.” It was his most simplistic title. Somehow fathers were always something other than the one that was supposed to raise us; they could turn into the one that taught us how to change a tire, how to parallel park, how to hate ourselves, how to seek death in every sunrise.

“That’s not my business.” Alec responded. “But I can say that he does own all of it. And then, unfortunately, after his passing, then you will.”

It was something we all didn’t consider; Ryan’s father having a will- or really, a lack thereof- and Ryan being left with something after George’s memory finally disappeared from the Earth. What could he possibly be leaving behind? I looked at Ryan slowly, chewing my lip nervously and waiting for his response. Ryan raised his hand slowly up to Spencer, his palm open and facing the ceiling. Spencer looked down at it for a moment before blinking and suddenly reaching into his pocket, his hands fumbling with the keys he placed in Ryan’s hand. Ryan folded his fingers around the keys as he did the same around my hand.

“Actually, yeah.” Ryan said formally. “We can go somewhere to talk. Follow me.”

“Right. Right.” Alec nodded his head and turned to followed Ryan as he and I began walking through the door Lawrence was holding up as he returned from his smoke break. “Uh, and who is this? Is this another sibling- I have no record of another-”

“This is Brendon.” Ryan replied, not turning to look over his shoulder at Alec. “And if it’s going to be mine, it’s going to be his too. So, he gets to come.”

“Right.” He rushed out the door behind us, digging through his jacket pocket for a pen. “Does he have any legal standing on the matter?” He was asking if I was Ryan’s legal partner according to the state of Nevada.

“Not at the moment, no.” Ryan said evenly. “Not yet.”

“I see.” He nodded repeatedly, the information seemingly coming at him as quickly as he was moving. “Nice to meet you, Brandon.”

“It’s _Brendon_.”


	8. Chasing Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last official chapter! No warnings for this chapter.  
> Thank you and enjoy!

Alec’s law office was only a few blocks from the apartment building, but he insisted on driving his car behind ours, backing into a spot across the street from the building as we pulled back into our marked parking spot. The entire time we drove through Spring Valley, passing buildings Ryan had said his final farewell to, I could notice his breathing forcefully becoming slower and deeper. We both had no idea what George’s lawyer would have to say. What would be added to our names- one that was newly cleared and one that was fading away with every hour; it had already been a full day. I was sure to be in the ground _very_ soon.

Alec approached the door just as we wrapped around the corner from the parking lot. He held the door for the two of us and followed in our echoing footsteps as we crossed the lobby. Ryan waved quickly to a man standing behind a desk. The man didn’t wave back but instead eyed us with suspicion; the man in the suit followed quickly behind us, my hair still tucked into a hat far too warm for the weather, my hand still gripped tightly in Ryan’s. But, thankfully, his eyes were the only ones staring back at us as we made our way to the stairs; all my flyers had been taken down.

“Do you live here as well?” Alec was _fascinated_ by my relationship with Ryan, asking me with the most innocent curiosity as we followed Ryan up the stairs.

“Uh, yeah.” I answered slowly. “I live with Ryan.” I told him the explicit information he wanted to hear.

“No kidding.” He stomped on the stairs as he seemed to chase them. It looked like he was trying to run up an escalator going in the opposite direction. “They allow that?” _That_. As a lawyer, I couldn’t help but think he was referring to something that was _illegal_ rather than just unagreeable.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them, now will it?” Ryan said through a venomous smile, unlocking the door to Spencer’s apartment. Alec, once again, didn’t expect this response and fell silent as we walked into apartment. I was beginning to feel uneasy.

The apartment hadn’t changed much since we left; it had barely been a full twenty-four hours. Everything was in the same place, same color, same _smell_. But it felt different. It felt empty, even if we were all standing in it. I pretended I didn’t notice; I was trying to soothe the furrowing of Ryan’s eyebrows as he walked Alec to the dining table, looking around the walls like they weren’t his own. Seeing places again after you thought you had said your last goodbyes and pried it from your memories was like waking up in the middle of the ocean without any land in sight; lost, clueless, and dying to either drown or go back to sleep.

“Here, sit down.” Ryan motioned to one of the now _two_ dining chairs. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water is fine, thank you. It’s very hot out today.” Alec responded. Ryan hadn’t meant _that_ kind of drink; I remembered Breezy’s gift was still in the kitchen. I wasn’t surprised when Ryan sat down across from Alec with a glass of water and his small black mug.

I busied myself tidying up an apartment that wasn’t mine, just to try and normalize the conversation that was happening; if I stood next to Ryan, gawking down at all the uncovered secrets Ryan would have to weave into the life he was trying to heal from, it would make things significantly worse. But if I was washing dishes or fixing record orders, then Ryan cold feel more at home. As if this wasn’t already.

“Okay, so, Mister- _Ryan_.” Alec started, placing his briefcase on the table. “Many of your father’s assets are investments but there are a few other things that I’d like to review with you.”

“Okay.” Ryan said, taking a sip from his mug. I picked up a glass from the coffee table and quietly migrated past the table to the kitchen.

“Well, first off we have property. Now houses typically can either be passed on or possibly sold-”

“I want it demolished.” Ryan said immediately, his mug clanging on the table. “I want that house destroyed.”

“I- what?” Alec sputtered, his hands fidgeting through papers again.

“I don’t want to see that house stand for another second once my father dies. Sell it to the bank and have them condemn it or _however_ that works. I just don’t want it.” Ryan clarified. I stepped out of the kitchen and stood by the records, checking to make sure nothing was out of place even though the collection still remained immaculately kept.

“I-I understand that.” Alec assured Ryan, about to reach over and touch his arm, but stopping almost immediately after he extended his hand. “I’m just not sure which house you mean.”

“The fuck you mean _which house_?” Ryan responded angrily. “My father only had one.”

“No no. He owns two homes. Fully paid off.” Alec corrected, picking up one of the papers in his nervous fingers and sliding it over to Ryan. I stopped sorting and stood up, loitering by the records; I had no business pretending I wasn’t hearing what was happening. “Are you referring to the Early Morning Avenue home? The... uh, _Nevada_ residence, correct?”

“That’s the only house I know… I grew up in that house.” Ryan stared down at the paper, his voice growing quiet and shaken. I stepped closer to the table, approaching the couch and hovering by the armrest. “He has another one?”

“Yes, sir.” Alec leaned over and pointed at a particular line on the paper. “A small residence on Central Ave in Ocean City.”

“Ocean City?” Ryan echoed, following his fingertip. “The fuck- I’ve _never_ been to _New Jersey_.” Ryan had betrayal in his voice. I took my place behind him, a hand resting on his shoulder. He reached up and grabbed it. “Why does he have this?”

“I’m not sure.” Alec replied. “It might have been an inheritance from his father. Did you know your grandfather very well?” He didn’t seem to get the hint about Ryan’s outlook on family from the fact he wanted to all but burn his childhood home to the ground given half the chance and a sledgehammer.

“Never met him.” Ryan answered, eyes still fixed on the paper. “Only got my name from my father. Only his reputation.”

“Well, the house is just a small little bungalow. Maybe for a small family- definitely enough for two.” He looked over at me awkwardly, trying to include me in the conversation somehow. “Only a few blocks from the ocean, near the high school, neighborhood is great. Really a great place.” He apparently was somehow in real estate as well. Even George’s lawyer had seen the house before his own son.

Ryan put the paper down slowly and turned to me. “This isn’t right.”

“Well, I assure you, Mister- _Ryan_ , that everything is documented and-”

“My father would never buy a place like this.” Ryan said to me, shaking his head. I shrugged but let him continue, my hands squeezing the one he gave me. “And then it just… happens to go to me? I don’t understand.”

“Maybe it’s from your grandfather. Maybe _your_ dad never touched it, Ryan. I mean, you said he barely left the house, right? He couldn’t have left Nevada and gone to _New Jersey_ without you knowing.” I offered, trying to comfort the sudden distress and confusion going across his face and flashing in his eyes. There was no way that Ryan just told his father to go straight to hell and to suffer the rest of his miserable spiritual life, only to have him do something _nice_ for us. There was no way. It wasn’t possible. But Alec was offering no other explanation except Ryan’s grandfather- it _had_ to be it, right? “Or… is it your mom’s?”

“My parents got divorced. Anything belongs to my mom would be in her name… George wouldn’t have anything.” Ryan explained. “It has to be _his_.”

“And he never told you about it?”

“Never. I didn’t even know there was another Ross that left Las Vegas. Even then, when my mom left she wasn’t even a Ross anymore… I have no idea what to say.”

“Well, how about your plans with the property.” Alec prompted, trying to bring focus back to Ryan’s eyes that were now just staring at the paper between them. “I can have the bank handle the other home, but what about this one. What would you like to do?”

“Can we have a minute?” Ryan snapped impatiently, releasing my hand to hold his temples and rest his elbows on the table. “This isn’t just a fucking _house_ to me. This feels a little worse.” Ryan thought he got in the last word, but his father had one more last snide remark; a secret house, possibly secret _life_ , that no one cared to share with him. His entire family history was a line of questions that no one wanted to answer except in the wake of their self- directed death.

“What do you want to do, Ryan?” I phrased it to allow his thought process to be voiced rather than a definitive answer; I didn’t have a pen or contract waiting in my hands. I was only listening.

“I don’t know.” Ryan sighed, his shoulders hunching. “We aren’t really in a position to turn it away… I mean, it’s basically a _free house_ , Brendon. We need that. We need somewhere to stay that isn’t owned by someone who could evict us on a day’s notice. We need that house…” Ryan ran his hands back through his hair, resting his hands on his neck. “But something feels wrong about that house. What didn’t he tell me? What is in that house that he doesn’t want me to see? He owns it. It’s on the other side of the country. He’s never lived in it as long as I was alive. He has no use for it- what is he hiding?”

“Exactly that.” Ryan answered his own question; it all made sense. But articulating it was something that came second to the realization.

“Exactly _what_?” Ryan asked, turning to look at me, confused by my sudden clarity.

“It was a hiding spot. If you knew about that place, you and Spencer wouldn’t have stayed in Las Vegas and moved only a town over. You guys would have run to the other side of the country. He kept you here.”

Ryan turned in his chair to face me, his eyes landing on me and Alec’s nervous fidgeting slowing to a barely noticeable pace as time froze. I could see Ryan running through every memory, his entire childhood flashing across his eyes as he looked at me. As he reached out to grab my hand, it faded to leave only a dim light. I stepped closer to him and let him place his hands on my waist; that moment in time didn’t exist for Alec anyway. We were moving in ways beyond the clueless.

“And now he can’t. Not anymore.” Ryan muttered, hands resting on my stomach as I placed mine on Ryan’s shoulders.

“Now you aren’t stealing a chair.” I noted, breaking into a smirk. “You’re stealing his whole fucking house.”

“A house for the two of us.” Ryan held my waist again as he suddenly stood up, closing into my personal space. Alec’s eyes had found us even in the time difference, but neither of us wanted to care. “And he won’t even _know_ that we’ve taken it. That we’re living in it.” He grabbed my face and kissed me hastily. “That we’re doing God knows what in it.”

“Our parents would be furious.” I giggled, Ryan kissing me again quickly.

“Can you imagine? You and me, every day?” Ryan’s eyes were starting to shine with the idea, the vision dancing in front of him.

“Already have.” Our morning might have started in a way that we weren’t expecting, but I saw the truth in it all. I saw the continuing healing we’d both need to embark on. I saw the support. I saw the trust, the commitment, the innocence. I saw that he loved me.

“Who would have thought George would save us in all this?” Ryan threw his head back to laugh, his shoulders dropping and entire body shaking with the thought. “Remind me to thank him."

“Next time we pray, I’ll remind you to pass the word along.” I teased, placing my hands on his waist. Ryan pulled me close to him, but pushed my chin towards my chest slightly in order to kiss my forehead.

“You’re a genius.” He said. “We want to keep that house.”

“You want to keep the 57 Central Avenue residence?” Alec spoke loud and fast, finally able to participate in the room’s conversation.

“Yes. I want to live there. Him too.” I had no legal standing on the matter, but Ryan just wanted to say it.

“Okay then. Ryan, I’m going to need you to sign a few things.” Finally, his hands had unstoppable purpose as he dug around in his briefcase for a legal document, his other hand sliding a pen over to Ryan, who still hadn’t sat back down.

“Absolutely.” Ryan turned to the table and tried to relax his face, looking more serious- mourning his father’s pending death.

Alec pushed a new piece of paper across the table and Ryan slowly sank down into his chair to read it. There were no doubt clauses and legal intricacies that I didn’t understand, but Ryan sat and looked at each line. His finger traced under them and directed his attention along the paper. He clicked his pen as he neared the end and signed his name, quickly but clearly along the line at the bottom of the page. He placed the pen on the paper and slid it back to Alec, smiling at him before turning to look at me again.

“Okay, that’s it for now. There will be a few more papers when everything is, uh, finalized.” Alec said, clearing his throat and placing the contract back into his briefcase. He left the lid up and seemed to use it to divert his eye contact.

“You mean, when my father dies.” Ryan said. “You can say it. It’s the truth.”

“Yes, I know,” Alec smoothed the lapels of his jacket before sliding the pen in his breast pocket. “I just try not to assume everyone handles it… as well as you.” He fixed the piles of papers in his briefcase carefully, looking at their contents individually. “I dealt with some very distraught parents yesterday.” Grief crossed his tight expression briefly in a flash of weakness he swiftly pushed aside with a shake of his head.

“Sorry about that.” Ryan offered his condolences by returning the pat on the arm Alec never committed to. “Parents must be hard. Especially good ones.”

“It is. Never gets easier.” Alec sighed, folding his hands on the tabletop, allowing a moment of weakness. “That poor family. Those parents and those four siblings... Doesn’t get easier.”

“Four?” The scenario was suddenly far easier to imagine. As I stepped up to the table, Ryan reached over to grab my hand. His hand didn’t grip my fingers or squeeze my hand in fear; the pressure was loose and slightly stunned. We were both slowly thinking the same thing.

“Yes… I don’t know if you’ve been following any of the local news, but-”

“I know.” I said, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. “Read about it in the papers. Real shame.”

“It was.” Alec agreed, taking a slow breath in. “Poor mother wouldn’t stop crying…”

I pushed away every vision I had of my mother crying. The heartbreak on her face when she found out _what_ I had become was enough for me. I don’t think I could handle the fracturing of her heart as she had to decide in what way she would have to say goodbye to her child. Somehow, there was nothing I could do make it better for her. And now she had decided where I would rest and how I would look to meet God. Everything she only hoped she could teach me, never have to do herself in my place. Her last son had failed her.

“But, they’re holding it together, right?” Ryan asked, his fingers drumming against mine. “I mean… as well as they can. In that position.”

“They seem to be.” Alec didn’t convince us. He shifted papers around again and I couldn’t help but notice his attentiveness for a few certain pages he made sure sat the very top of his stack. His hurried movements had slowed and his eyes slid along the words on the papers hidden behind the lid of his briefcase that divided us.

Those papers were definitely about me.

They might have my parents’ final plans, my burial location- everything about me about to be immortalized was written on that paper. I became real all over again, brought to life by just a few pages. My heart could start beating and my breathing could stop feeling like it would halt at any moment.

“I should really get back to the firm.” Alec noted, looking at his watch and standing quickly. “Do you mind if I use your restroom?” He closed the lid of the briefcase over, the sound of the clamps absent.

“Right there.” Ryan replied, his voice distant and hollow. He pointed past Alec to the bathroom door.

Alec spun on his heels and followed Ryan directions. I waited for the door to click closed before I started moving. I walked to the other end of the table, almost as quickly as Alec might have, my hands hovering over the lid of his briefcase. All I had to do was open it. Open it and get my life back.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, suddenly noticing I had walked away from him. I threw the lid open and started rustling through the papers hurriedly. Ryan jumped to his feet and grabbed my wrist. “What are you _doing_?” He whispered.

“He helped my parents. He has to have something about me in here. Let me know what is happening back home.” I answered, pulling my wrist out of Ryan’s grip.

“Brendon, you can’t do this.” Ryan sighed, understanding my motives, but ultimately trying to stop me. “C’mon.”

“I can’t.” My fingers brushed against a paper rougher than the other thin, white pages. It felt sturdier and far more important. “Look.” I pulled the paper out and was met with my full birth name spelled out in the middle of the paper, my birthday scribed in a handwriting I didn’t recognize, as well as my parents’ names written along the bottom.

“Brendon.” Ryan breathed, reaching out and grabbing it from my hands. “Brendon, that’s your birth certificate.”

“Guess who’s not dead anymore.” I muttered, the paper growing heavy in my hands as Ryan released it. With that single piece of paper, I proved I was alive. I could walk into any job, bank, _school_ , and be able to pick my life up right from where my parents tried to bury it. I was finally having the last say. They might not have been the words I originally thought I would say to my parents, but I thought it was just as clear.

Why try to drown me when I’ve already learned to breathe underwater.

“Brendon.” Ryan gasped, suddenly hearing the sink in the bathroom start. “Hide that. Hide that _now_.” He grabbed my arm and shoved me towards the kitchen. “Go go go.” I stumbled through the archway as Ryan slammed the lid back down. He fell back into his seat as I pulled the plate cabinet open and placed my only proof on one of the three plates that rested there.

“Much thanks, Mister- Ryan. Sorry. Thank you, Ryan.” Alec said, pulling on the bottom of his suit jacket as he crossed the room.

“Not a problem, man.” Ryan assured him, holding out his hand to Alec. “See you… around.”

“Soon. I’ll be seeing you soon.” Alec laughed awkwardly. His joke had been only for Ryan’s benefit, who was chuckling at the morbid promise.

“Sure, I will.” Ryan clapped him on the arm and smiled.

“It was nice to meet both of you. Horrible circumstances, but a real pleasure.” Alec waved to me, still frozen in the kitchen, cabinet closed and secret buried again.

“Here, let me give you our number, so you can call.” Ryan said suddenly, walking into the kitchen. The minute he faced me, his eye went wide. “ _Where_?” He mouthed. I glanced at the cabinet and Ryan nodded, stepping to the other side of the kitchen and rummaging through a drawer for a pen and paper. He scribbled the nine digits for the apartment out, and passed it along to Alec.

As he wrote, I allowed myself to look over and get to know where the hell I was. I could allow myself the pleasure of having a phone number- of having somewhere to be found. There wasn’t a thing they could take from me now. I had my life in my own hands. They might have chased me until what they assumed was the very end of the line, but really, I had just stopped, letting them foolishly run past me, chasing a shadow they thought they saw pass over the desert floor. They were the ones running now.

“Brendon?” Ryan called my name as if I wouldn’t answer. Alec had been shut off into the hallway and it was just the two of us.

I stepped out of the kitchen. “Yeah.”

Ryan had his back leaned against the door, arms out toward me, waving at me before falling by his sides. I walked to the table, placing a hand on the back of a chair, giving myself some stability for when the truth struck me. The last time I was in the apartment, my entire world was ending. I was _dead_ and Ryan was trying to keep my pieces together long enough to get me out the door and into the next state. But now, I had brought myself back from the dead. Literally. I could do it. This didn’t have to be the end for me. Ryan got a second chance, and somehow, by the grace of God, he decided to give me one too.

You know, maybe He had more of a positive attitude towards people like us than we all thought.

“Brendon Urie, you’re a _genius_.” Ryan laughed, pushing off the door to run to me. He pulled my hat off and wrapped his arms around my waist the second I was in his reach. My feet were off the ground before I even realized, and Ryan was spinning me around. “You are a fucking genius, you know that?” He said, placing me back on the floor, both of us slightly spinning. He never removed his hands from my waist and as we circled in our own minds and bodies from the lack of balance. We continued to sway closer to each other. Our lips played with the idea of touching, but we kept trying to give each other the chance to say something else, or humor the idea of verbal thought. “Look at my boy. Beautiful _and_ smart.”

Our self-control was unable to hold out and we eliminated the space keeping our lips in the business of speaking. The heat was nearly immediate. There was already a fire in Ryan’s chest- every second of that day building and building and somehow, for the first time in his life, _working out_. His chest was already heaving as he sucked on my bottom lip, testing my reaction. The world was so foreign to both of us at that moment, I nearly forgot where we were. My eyes were closed and I could only feel the _red_ of Ryan’s skin as his hands began to slip up the back of my shirt, my body no longer in my control as it became a magnet, sliding into Ryan’s the minute I got too close.

Ryan’s hands were tugging on my shirt, pushing it under my arms to feel the still foreign skin that was exposed, when there was an abrupt knock on the door. It wasn’t slow and distant; they had broken through our barrier. I turned my head to look at the door, breaking our kiss. But Ryan found a better place along my jaw.

“Who is that?” I whispered, my voice weak. “Is… Is that Spencer?”

“Can’t be.” Ryan responded smoothly, his lips tickling my neck as he spoke. “They’ll go away.” Ryan assured me.

“Hope so.” I added shyly, turning back to Ryan and meeting his eyes. They were shining and looking only into mine, committed and unfaltering. The room continued to disappear again and my body lost connection with my mind as I started to only exist in those kind, unabashed eyes.

The knock didn’t hesitate to interrupt us again, though. Ryan pulled away from me for only a breath to tell the person at the door to go away. We giggled in the silent minute of aftermath, Ryan’s hands still colorfully brushing over my skin. I had the hem of my shirt in my hands, smiling and laughing still, as the door rattled again.

“Ryan, _please_ , let me talk to you.”

Ryan broke away from me immediately. “What the fuck.”

“Is that…?” I gasped, tugging my shirt down and smoothing the fabric. “What does _Dallon_ want?” I wasn’t even sure how he got up to our floor.

“I don’t know.” Ryan admitted, trying to blink away the slow speed we were both functioning in, trying to match the pace of the rest of the world. “Get in your room.”

“What?”

“Get in your room and shut the door. He can’t know you’re here.” Ryan ordered, quietly pushing me towards the room. “He’s already fucked up, Brendon. He sees your face and he’ll think he’s seen a damn ghost.” Ryan had a point. By now, everywhere he looked, Brendon was probably still staring him in the face. But that was most likely old flyers and dead ink-on-paper eyes. The real ones would dig a wound far deeper.

I rushed into my now gutted room and shut the door behind me, pressing my ear against the door. Our first test on the run. How well had we lied? Even though I was alive now, how much longer could we keep the split life up?

I heard Ryan take a slow heavy breath before opening the door. “Hey… Dallon.” Ryan sounded surprised, but in a way I could only imagine paired with furrowed eyebrows and wide, sad eyes.

“Ryan, I need to talk to you.” Dallon had no preamble, his footsteps growing closer to me as he walked into the room. The door closed soon after and Ryan’s softer footsteps followed.

“Dallon… I mean no offense but, you look awful. Is everything okay?” Ryan asked carefully. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Ryan, listen,” Dallon started, ignoring Ryan’s question. He was not going to engage in small talk- or anything not related to what must have been rattling in his ears. “I need to talk to you about Bren.”

“What about him?” Ryan’s concerned tone from his previous sentence carried over, even if he hadn’t meant to.

“I can’t stop thinking about him.” Dallon’s footsteps began to echo in the apartment, nearing me before turning and going away. He was pacing the length of the apartment, voice barely loud enough to be heard over each step. “I… Ryan, I think he’s lying to you.”

“About what?” I could just about feel Ryan’s eyes staring at me through the door. “What happened?” Or, as Ryan wanted to ask: _What do you know_?

“I don’t know… Breezy keeps telling me I’m just… having another episode…” His footsteps stopped. “But, I see him everywhere.”

“Bren?” Ryan asked, genuinely sounding confused and startled by my name coming up.

“Brendon.”

I waited for Ryan’s response, holding my breath and covering my mouth. “What does that have to do with Bren?”

“I… _God_ ,” Dallon sighed, starting to pace again. “I… I think they’re the same person.”

“Dallon… I don’t mean to be blunt here.” Ryan paused. “Well, actually, I do. Dallon, you _found_ Brendon-”

“I didn’t.” _Shit_. “I know when it first happened, it was. It has to be, his parents were there and everything. But… It feels different. This isn’t like Andrew. It wasn’t Brendon.”

“So, your entire body of evidence is based off a hunch?” I winced at Ryan’s mocking tone. He just didn’t understand; it wasn’t a hunch if it was supposed to be a direct message from God. Dallon had felt Andrew’s death come as a direct action from God, touching down and directing his life, and now Brendon’s life had been a second serving of his punishment… Until suddenly it had nothing to do with him at all. And that’s why Dallon just found him. He turned into the innocent bystander with the flick of a blinker.

“It feels different, Ryan. It’s not the same. It’s not the same, Ryan. It’s not. It’s not.”

“Okay, Dallon. Why don’t you sit down-”

“It’s not the same. It’s _different_.”

“Dallon.”

“No. No. I know it.”

“Dallon!”

“You have to believe me-”

“ _I do_."

Dallon was still pacing, coming to a sudden stop and freezing in place as he saw me step out of my room. His eyes were turning into faded and demolished centers of hope as exhaustion circled them. His clothes were days old and wrinkled, his hair flopped to the side of his head. As he stared at me, I watched him fight fear of punishment and slowly take in every feature, no doubt matching it against the countless pictures he gawked at, begging for answers instead of the God who had offered him silence.

“You’re alive!” Dallon gasped, taking swift steps toward me. “Oh, thank God.” Dallon pulled me into him, placing a hand on the back of my head and the other across my shoulders as he embraced me. “I knew it was different. I knew it. It wasn’t the same.”

“It’s not, Dallon. It’s not your fault.” I told him, placing my hands on his back.

I let him hold me, his breath shaking as he gripped my shoulder tightly. The relief must have been enormous; both personal and spiritual, and some other third thing beyond all comprehension and understanding, like the entire entropy of the universe was holding you as the catalyst. Suddenly, Dallon didn’t feel like God’s eyes were staring down at him. I knew what that was like.

“I thought… This was just another thing… Something else to sit on my conscience. I didn’t do enough. I didn’t help enough. I wasn’t loyal enough. But… But then it didn’t feel the same. Andrew was different. It felt different.” Dallon began rambling. He was sharing and being honest, in his very typical fashion, but now it was a topic completely uncharted by all of us. “And then when I was talking to the police, the picture wasn’t right. They kept giving me your picture and saying _Brendon_. I had seen that picture hundreds of times, but it just… I wasn’t right. It was you. And you’re _alive_.”

“I am.” I assured him, knowing I had nothing he needed me to say besides reassurances of his own slow revelations. “I’m okay.”

“Thank you.” Dallon said quietly, holding me for another moment before stepping back to look at me again. His eyes hovered over my hair before darting back over all my now obviously identifiable facial features. “I knew it… I just knew it.” I wasn’t a punishment.

“Now that we know Brendon’s alive… can we make sure you stay that way too?” Ryan said kindly, walking up to place a hand on Dallon’s shoulder. “Let me get you some water. Dallon, sit down.”

“I’m fine.” Dallon shook his head at the offer, his tone slowly gaining strength and his poise returning. “I- I really should be getting home. Breezy is probably wondering where I went.”

“Is she at your house?” Ryan asked, although it wasn’t accusatory.

“She’s been staying with me, yes.” Dallon nodded, his voice growing quiet. “She insisted she watch me.”

“Why don’t we call her?” Ryan offered, leading Dallon to the telephone and pulling a dining chair up to it. “Sit down and call her while I get you something.”

“Ryan, really-”

“Make the damn phone call. She’s worried.” Ryan insisted, pushing Dallon lightly into the chair. “Brendon, help me in the kitchen, will you?”

I touched Dallon’s shoulder as I passed, moving into the kitchen and leaving him to make his phone call. Ryan was filling a tea kettle to rest on the stove, and I hovered by his side, trying not to be seen from the archway. Dallon had his back to us, turning away as he held the phone up to his ear.

“Well…” Ryan muttered, placing the kettle on the stove and resting his hip against it. He parted his lips as if he was about to speak further, but then closed his mouth again.

“Yeah.” I agreed. “Didn’t expect that.”

“He’s a lot sharper than I thought.” Ryan admitted, folding his arms across his chest. “Figured it out over a _feeling_.”

“Thank God the entire town isn’t as clever as Dallon.”

“Thank God _Spencer_ wasn’t.” Ryan countered. “He would have been more of a wreck, but with none of the focus… We got really lucky, Brendon. With everything.”

I didn’t want to consider how many different ways things could have unfolded. Anyone could have found me out far before I gathered enough courage to do so myself; I could have had my disguise pulled from me, my hands reaching out to try and grasp my last thread of shame and hold it over myself. Spencer could have seen right through my hair color and noticed the Boy in the Newspaper was the boy at his dining table. Ryan could have spotted me in the paper within my first week. Spencer and Ryan’s argument could have ended far differently- Ryan’s argument with those strangers could have ended differently- leaving me with only Spencer in the apartment. I could have never made it off the side of that highway. I could have been found days later in that motel. Maybe the same way Dallon found me.

“Uh… Hi, Breezy. I know. I… Yes, I know. I’ll be home soon… Yes, I’m safe. I’m with Ryan. I’ll be back. Promise.”  Dallon was speaking quietly, but even over the growing whistle from the kettle, I could hear him. He sounded relieved- although none more than I was sure Breezy was. “Love you too.”

The phone was placed back on the receiver and the feet on the chair could be heard squeaking against the hardwood floor as Dallon pushed it back into place. I made sure to go into the cabinet and grab a mug before Dallon walked in, keeping the cabinet’s new contents hidden.

“Thank you.” Dallon said, standing to the side of the archway, watching Ryan pour the boiling water.

“Any time, Dallon. Owe you this much.” Ryan smiled and handed him the mug, patting his arm as he gripped it.

Ryan stepped back and stood beside me, placing an arm around my shoulders. We both watched Dallon pull on the tea string and bob the bag in the water. He had a particular confused face contorting his features as he watched the bag. It wasn’t until he raised his gaze that we realized it was for us instead. He opened his mouth repeatedly, closing it to reconsider the words on the tip of his tongue.

“So… You aren’t from Arizona.” He noted plainly.

“Nope.” I was aware that Dallon already knew everything about Brendon to no longer be asking that question, but I understood the connection he had made, and the one he was trying to let disappear. “Summerlin since birth.”

“The town’s really nice.” Dallon said, blowing the coils of steam away from his cup. “They miss you.”

“Dallon.” Ryan started. “He doesn’t need-”

“I know… I just, I’m curious why once you escaped, you never went back.” Dallon asked, looking at me and Ryan. “You had to know they were looking for you.”

“Escaped?” Ryan repeated.

“Oh.” Dallon was still running on misinformation. “I wasn’t kidnapped, Dallon. I did it all on my own. I didn’t want to go back.”

Dallon stopped, the mug half raised to his mouth, steam billowing into his face. “You don’t?”

“No. Don’t have as many fond memories anymore.” I leaned into Ryan’s shoulder. “I know I didn’t give it half the chance you did, but I just happened to really like the new town I ran to.”

“So, they really… Your parents I mean, they don’t… They’re completely-”

“They had no idea where I was. Still don’t.”

“Well, they pretend they do.” Ryan countered, tapping a finger against my shoulder. “Now they know exactly where you are.”

“Right.” Dallon nodded, lowering his mug without taking a sip. “Right. They do.” Dallon had been so relieved in finding out that I was alive- and that God had turned a thankful blind eye to him- that he forgot that he discovered the boy that would take my place, relieving me from my position of living in someone else’s shoes.

“But that’s okay. We’re figuring it out.” My last chance at liberation was waiting in the cabinet over my shoulder. I had all the ammunition but no target.

“Oh.” Dallon blinked at me slowly, trying to find the tinge of regret in my voice. With unwavering confidence, I knew he wouldn’t find one. I had left my old town behind, but brought every part of myself along. I had refused the attempt to silence me, and chose a life that spoke far louder than I ever thought I could. I ran from bubbling fear and growing disgust into undiscovered love and honest commitment. As promised, I had finally gotten both.

“You gonna be okay, Dallon?” Ryan asked, studying Dallon as he slowly brought the mug to his lips again. His eyes never left me.

“Yeah.” He replied nodding, a smile growing on his lips. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Better now that I know I haven’t lost my mind.” Dallon’s laugh was broken and uneasy, but just as charming.

“I know how that feels.” Ryan added, trying to shake the uncertainty out of Dallon’s voice. “Took me a little to wrap my head around it. Granted, I didn’t have the… the, uh, _body count_ to add to my comprehension.”

Dallon’s laughter faded and he nodded his head at the consideration. He took a long sip before lowering the mug and holding it in his two hands. “Why do you think God took that boy instead…” There was no shaking what Dallon saw, no matter if I was living and breathing in front of him.

“Don’t do that, Dallon.” Ryan sighed. “Don’t look for answers right now. You’ve been through enough.” We all had.

“Sometimes people die. And sometimes people live!” I added, waving a hand out to myself and over to him. “It’s okay to not have answers. It doesn’t have to mean something. Sometimes it just happens.”

The thought apparently never crossed Dallon’s mind. And really, it hadn’t occurred to me much before then. It was hard not to look for reasons for all the disasters crashing down around you- all the ones you seem to be causing. It was hard not to want to blame yourself, so then, at least, all the curiosity and confusion could stop. Take the blame in hopes that the world would keep spinning and no one would notice your footprints alongside the destruction.

Dallon blinked slowly, his face going slack as he stared at me. I mistook it as shock, shouldering Ryan’s hand off of me in order to shuffle closer to him, only to still see Dallon’s recognizable sparkle in his eyes. We had just witnessed all the shouting in his head silence. We witnessed relief. God had looked down at him and decided to forgive him.

The door attempted to open quietly. “Hello? Ryan? Brendon?”

“In here Spencer.” Ryan called, giving a smile to Dallon as we heard Spencer approach.

“There y- Oh. Dallon. Hi.” Spencer froze at the sight of the man towering in the kitchen archway. He looked ready to begin panicking, having used the wrong name, but changed focus as he noted Dallon’s appearance. “Is everything okay?”

“Great. I was just leaving.” Dallon looked between the two of us before smiling at Spencer.

“You sure?” Spencer asked, looking over Dallon’s shoulder at us, eyes wide. Ryan and I raised our hands in surrender, not saying a word.

“Really.” Dallon placed the mug on the counter and held a hand out to Ryan and I. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Any time, Dallon.” Ryan nodded, shaking his hand slowly. “Just _call_ next time.”

“Right. My apologies.” Dallon said. He turned to me and I placed my arms around him before he offered his hand.

“You did everything, Dallon.” I said quietly before stepping away. “Take care of yourself.”

“And you, the same.” He sounded firm, but his lips were pulling into a small smile.

“Nice to see you, Dallon.” Spencer said awkwardly, trying to understand the conversation happening before him. He stood by the dining table, his arms lifting helplessly by his sides.

“Nice to see you too, Spencer.” Dallon echoed with more confidence. “Happy birthday.”

“I- thank you.” Spencer took a second to realize that today was in fact supposed to be a celebration. In his moment of hesitation, he missed Dallon as he patted his arm and made his way out of our apartment. “Bye!”

“See you around, boys.” Dallon left quietly. Spencer was still left with confusion, waving his arms out to Dallon’s fleeting figure.

“What the hell was that about?” Spencer asked, stepping into the kitchen. Ryan shrugged and muttered a comment about Dallon’s consistent trait of being enigmatic. “Where’s the other guy?”

“Oh, he left.” Ryan supplied. “Left a little bit before Dallon showed up actually.” He was being far too casual. Spencer was growing impatient and bewildered. “Nice guy… Handsome, don’t you think, Brendon?”

“Definitely.” I nodded, reaching up to open the cabinet. “A little old for me I think, though.”

“Really?” Ryan asked, as if he was interested in the subject. His eyes followed my hands slowly and his lips fought a grin. “Too old for _you_?”

“For the love of _God_.” Spencer cried. “Would someone please tell me what’s happening?”

“With what?” I asked, following Ryan’s lead and making Spencer’s face grow tense with frustration. “Oh, you mean this?” I handed the paper over to Spencer, my name facing him directly. “Or the house Ryan will officially own by the end of the year? You need to be more specific.”

I stepped back from Spencer and leaned against Ryan’s side, his arm going back around my shoulders again. He chuckled quietly as Spencer sputtered at us, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands, but his head slowly pulling up to stare at us and the other news revealed to him.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Spencer gawked at us, his eyes darting between the two of us. He looked like he expected it all to be some exaggerated joke, but also his eyes begging us to tell him that it was the truth. “How did you- What do you mean- _Ryan_!” Spencer broke out into laughter, rushing up to us both and wrapping his arms around us. His arm went up too high, anticipating to go around Ryan’s other side and bumped into my face. We laughed as we all adjusted and attempted to hug each other all at once. Our heads all rested together and our laughter blended together into a sound that seemed to sing throughout the apartment we abandoned.

We had been chased out, but came back, head held high. We’d be leaving again, but we’d be the one closing the door behind us. We’d still have the keys to come back and the right to do so. There would be no fear clouding our judgment or driving our decisions. There be no ghosts to follow us when we chose to move out.

I leaned into Ryan and Spencer, my laughter seemingly tiring me out and my face aching as I smiled. Everything felt and sounded suddenly more vivid and clear than before. Ryan’s laugh sounded different, lighter and rising above us and flooding the kitchen; Spencer’s eyes were crinkling on the sides as he grinned at both of us, nearly squeezing us into the same body; every heartbeat thudding back in my ears could be heard bouncing around the room, coming back to me with enough energy to pound it back in my chest one more time. I sighed and rested my head on Ryan’s shoulder, it needing a place to rest. We had finally stopped running.

* * *

_Brendon Boyd Urie was buried September fifth, on a sunny Sunday morning. He was put to rest in a small cemetery on a plot of land that looks over the beautiful Las Vegas desert to one side, and an abandoned development to the other. He is to be missed by his family and mourned by every soul he touched. May he rest in peace._

_George Ryan Ross Jr. was buried January third, on a chilly Monday afternoon. He was cremated and laid to rest in a small metal box, at the alley exit of his favorite drinking establishment, ‘Tongue in Cheek’. His memory is faded and torn, and may the only soul that truly knew him forget every last word spoken between them. May he burn in hell._

Ryan lowered the newspaper and looked at me across the table with mischievous eyes. I was smothering my laughter with a spoonful of cereal while Spencer was glaring from the seat between us.

“God, I _am_ a great writer.” Ryan sighed, folding the page over and placing it next to the cup of tea still too molten hot to drink. “Ginger was right.”

“I get it, I get it. Mister _College Boy_. Gotta brag the whole damn time even though you don’t go for another _seven months_.” Spencer sighed, his pinched lips curling into a reluctant grin. “Just stop reading that fucking obituary. It’s kind of depressing. The entire _town_ has read that.”

“Oh, I know.” Ryan nodded, laughing and picking up his mug. “Kinda why I did it.” Ryan whispered, blowing on his tea and taking his first sip.

“Good to know nothing’s changed.” Spencer sighed, reaching over to squeeze Ryan’s shoulder.

“I’ll always be the same jerk I’ve always been, Spence. You know that.” Ryan said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but no matter where you move you have to always be _my_ jerk.” Spencer added, cocking his head and leaning over to Ryan. Ryan met Spencer half way and kissed him on the cheek, patting the side of his face softly, but the sound of hand slapping skin sounding slightly painful.

“Thanks for letting me live in your house one more time, Spence.” Ryan said quietly, his smile small and shy.

“You always have a home here.” Spencer patted Ryan’s shoulder and stood up from his chair, picking up his plate and mug. “You hear me, Brendon?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ryan interrupted. “Why are you pointing to _him_?”

“If you need to come back for anything- you know, maybe Ryan is being too much of a partying college kid _-_ ”

“Hey! First off, why would he drive like, _forty hours_ , just to blow off some steam?” Ryan argued. I raised an eyebrow, motioning to my current position; a town away from home after I just wanted to ‘blow off some steam’. “… okay, rescinded. But, I’m not living on campus, Spencer. I’m commuting every day. So, I can _live with him_ and not some drunk gross frat boys with no manners and poor hygiene habits.”

“And so you aren’t surrounded by a bunch of cute eighteen year olds.” Spencer coughed, turning on the sink to wash his dishes.

“One is enough for you, Ryan.” I said with mock seriousness, pointing a finger at him as I switched to Spencer’s seat, sitting beside Ryan.

“Well, you’re going to be nineteen this year.” Ryan muttered, looking pained as he leaned an elbow on the table and slowly leaning towards me. “I don’t like them when they’re old.”

“Fuck you!” I gasped, shoving his arm and nearly causing his head to fall into the table. I leaned in closer and placed a non-threatening finger against his chest as our noses brushed. “You still get to say you bang a high schooler so I am _not_ old.”

“Alright, alright.” Ryan’s words never made it a full second out of his mouth before his lips were finding more appropriate ways to apologize. My hand relaxed and flattened against his chest, the two of us pulling towards each other, Ryan coming almost out of his chair to chase me.

“Alright! _Alright!”_ The faucet had turned off and Spencer was attempting to leave the kitchen, colliding with our display. “You boys have to be driving soon. You don’t have time for a pit stop yet.” He patted Ryan on the back and slapped my shoulder as he passed, the two of us pulling apart slowly. “Come on. Before traffic gets bad.”

“Remind me when we stop.” Ryan said to me quietly, standing from his chair and taking his tea cup with him.

I hummed in agreement before taking my dishes to the kitchen. I placed the ceramic bowl in the sink and admired the horrifically _yellow_ kitchen design one last time. The once haunting and nostalgic yellow pattern now left a far different impression: God, it was ugly. I really hoped our house didn’t have any overtly seventies swatches. It was nineteen eighty-three for fuck’s sake. It was time for some things to go.

Although, the way Ryan’s ass looked in bell bottom jeans was not one of them.

“Stop admiring and finish packing.” Spencer teased, bumping my shoulder as I hovered in the kitchen archway, enjoying watching Ryan crouch to check the boxes at his feet and pack all on his own.

“I already finished my packing.”

“You had one box.”

“I need very little.”

“I’m six foot.” Ryan argued, standing up. “Not little.”

“ _We know_.” Spencer deadpanned, handing Ryan a box forcefully.

It was meant to be a box designated to hold Ryan’s clothing, but the name was crossed out in favor of a bunch of question marks next to a crude drawing of a shirt; it seemed Spencer didn’t know who owned what anymore either. Sometimes it was better to make a messy break than a clear one. We still had to take Spencer with us somehow. We didn’t want to leave him behind. He was a part of all this too. It wasn’t just us.

“Have you given Dallon and Breezy our new address?” I asked, remembering the last loose string being roped into the knot keeping us all docked and afloat.

“Gave it to him yesterday when he called.” Ryan nodded, placing the box in the stack beside the door. “He said he’ll send us a house warming card the minute we tell him we’re there.” He rolled his eyes but smiled at the sentiment.

“Alright… So, is that it?” I asked, running through a mental checklist Ryan and I had been passing along the past few months. I looked around at the apartment, noting where our things had been removed, but nothing seemed empty; Linda’s things had slowly been making their way over to our apartment since the New Year. Our clothes had been packed up and placed by the door, labeled and taped up, and the collection of records and knick-knacks Ryan had kept in the apartment were all wrapped up and already waiting in the car.

“I think so.” Ryan nodded, running his fingers through his hair as he scanned the room. His fingers passed through his curls and didn’t hesitate as they passed over both temples and rested on the back of his neck. “You see anything else.”

“Only you.” I replied, watching Spencer roll his eyes as Ryan began laughing. “You’re coming with me, right?”

“Excuse me. I do believe it’s _you_ who’s coming with _me_.” Ryan corrected coyly, meeting me halfway in the living room and placing an arm over my shoulder. “You owe _me_.”

“Oh, do I?” I laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Ryan smiled as he began playing with my hair, hands running over the shortly cut sides and longer mop I let hang over from the top. “I’ll let you know how you can pay me back.”

“You can discuss that over your three day drive, guys.” Spencer said, testing a box’s integrity before hoisting it up. “Do one last walk around while I put these in the car.”

“Thanks, Spence.” Ryan called. Spencer responded with a grunt as he shouldered the door open.

“Can you believe we’re finally leaving?” I asked, still amazed by how everything had changed around us; we were finally the ones not doing the alterations.

“Can you believe he finally died?” Ryan laughed, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Who would have thought death would be our good luck.” Ever since my parents had buried their youngest son, and the entire town spent the allotted week to grieve, my name hadn’t been uttered or mentioned or thought about. It might have been literally carved in stone, but my name and future was given back to me by the poor nature and forgetfulness of an entire town.

Ryan took a slow breath, shaking his head as he considered my comment. “Jesus, you’re right. We must be horrible people.”

“Probably.” I agreed, nodding. “I don’t care though, do you?”

“God, no.”

We could hear Spencer trudging back up the steps, and knew we were supposed to be making sure every last bit of our lives was in a cardboard box and ready to move along with us, but Ryan kept his back to the door as he pulled me into him. I tried to make the kiss chaste, splaying my hands out on his chest to keep our bodies at least a half-arms-length away. But as my hands landed on his chest, I could immediately feel Ryan’s steady heartbeat, and Spencer suddenly began moving slower. He seemed frozen behind Ryan as I let him tug my body flush against his. I was the first to break the kiss, a giggle escaping my lips as I could begin to hear Spencer noticeably clearing his throat and closing the door loudly.

Ryan’s eyes fluttered back open, staring at my sudden blush forming on my cheeks. His eyes were filled with light, the dreamer having been resurrected and coaxed back to the surface. We hadn’t let that die. It shone brighter in his eyes, lighting up his smile as he started to laugh with me. He never looked away, ignoring Spencer’s attempts to separate us, even if it was to only get to a point of more solitude. His eyes stayed focused on mine, letting me block out the clattering behind Ryan and settle in the world beyond his eyes instead. I let myself exist only in his eyes, only for him, in just that moment. We’d have thousands of more moments like this in the future, but it felt comforting, felt _beautiful_ , to be standing in the shadows of all our mistakes and secrets, and be lead out of it by the shining promise of a beloved and accomplished dream. To be able to step out of the darkness hovering over us and never cast a second glance over our shoulders. To have your entire life become an intricate and loving part of someone else’s for the first time, and knowing that it was the right choice the whole time. Running hadn’t felt right until I finally found somewhere to stop. Somewhere new to call home.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, and came back week after week. It has been a great joy writing and sharing this with you.  
> There will be one more update (the epilogue to give us all a glimpse into their future), but then that's it for this fic! If you want to ask any questions or just talk about the story, come into my ask on tumblr (@breakfastbeebo). I'm open to anything you want to know about our little corner of 1982.  
> Thanks again and much love to you all.  
> Be safe and I'll be here when you get back.


	9. Epilogue: Home, 1983

As if I thought the internal structure of a cell wasn’t boring the _first time_ I took biology, the second time was somehow even more horribly uninteresting. My teacher droned on for the full hour, seemingly without needing a breath, and the bell should have rung two minutes ago- or maybe the clock was fast; a reality none of us were emotionally prepared to face. Friday double lab periods were a part of ‘real life’ I hadn’t missed back in Nevada.

“ _Hey_. Brendon.” I turned my head to face Shane, my lab partner. He had a hand up to brace his head on the table, while also attempting to hide his mouth as he whispered to me. “You going to the game tonight?”

“Yeah, think so.” I nodded, keeping my voice just as quiet. “All depends on if Ryan wants to go, really. Need someone to be bored with.”

“Ohhh, look at you.” Shane laughed, nudging my shoulder. “Gonna bring the _boyfriend_ to Homecoming. Finally going to let us see, huh?”

“He’s not a secret, Shane.” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “I _live_ with him. I’m pretty sure you were in my English class for that whole debate this morning.” It wasn’t a hidden fact that I was the only nineteen year old senior who lived with their boyfriend. No more lies.

“Still won’t believe you until I see him.” He pushed me again just as the bell finally rang, letting us all go. “See you soon, Bren.” Shane waved as he grabbed his books and began to follow the flow of students going for the door.

I slid my books into my backpack and began putting on my coat. I already grabbed my things from my locker so I wouldn’t need to run back before I walked home. I knotted my scarf around my neck and buttoned my coat up over it before pulling my knitted hat out of my pocket and pulling it over my head, making sure to cover my ears more than any strand of hair. New Jersey autumns were a little different than what I knew; I still wasn’t used to it and needed every layer I could get.

I hitched my bag onto my shoulder and started for the door, waving to my teacher and pretending to appreciate their endless lecture. I navigated the hallways far more skillfully than I did back in Summerlin. People saw me as I walked toward the staircase, waving and wishing me a good weekend. I had made myself a real set of connections; real set of friends. More than one person knew my last name.

And maybe only three approached me with the ‘crazy coincidence’ of someone on the west coast, going by the same name as me, being buried earlier this year.

The weather wasn’t as biting as I expected, but was still glad for all my warm clothing, knowing that my tolerance for the bitter cold was not yet the full walk home from school. I walked along the sidewalk opposite the loading buses and turned onto the street running vertically to the school and began my beeline for home. Our home. It was only a few blocks from the school- far better than my walk before. All I had to do was quicken my pace a little and I could reach my front door within ten minutes. I was never too far from home. Even if I turned the other way on the corner, I’d only walk the few blocks it took to the beach- a place I had only really been once before for a class assignment. Alone.

Either way I walked, I’d find a place to rest. I never did much running then.

Our street was quiet. Most of the other properties were owned by elderly couples that retired to the shore to be in the homogenous (and regretfully overtly Protestant) community. We didn’t have any problems though. Most of our neighbors were kind and willing to wave to us if we ever crossed paths outside or on the sidewalk. Only one told Ryan to get a ‘fucking haircut’, and another still was confused on the concept of Ryan and I _not_ being brothers. It wasn’t a bad crowd, considering other alternatives.

I dug my key out of my front pocket as I rounded onto our street, our house being only the fifth one from the corner. As I approached our house, I checked the mailbox and found no mail or flag up; Ryan was already home. I took the stairs up to the porch quickly and pushed the door open.

“Home!” I called, shutting the door behind me and kicking off my shoes.

“Hey! How was school?” Ryan called, his voice echoing down the hallway from our bedroom.

“It was okay.” I continued to shrug off my jacket as I answered, waiting for Ryan to appear in the foyer. “Had some stupid debate thing in my English class… Ended up with me having to explain to fifteen confused kids and a nosey forty-year-old that I don’t live my parents. _Again_.”

“Ouch.” Ryan winced, walking up behind me to help slide my coat off and hang it on the rack by the door. “How did _that_ go?”

“They don’t believe me.” I sighed, laughing at the pointlessness of the situation. “Well, more specifically _Shane_ doesn’t.”

“Shane…” Ryan mulled the name over, hand pulling on my scarf and tugging me closer. “Isn’t that the kid who has the _biggest_ crush on you?” I rolled my eyes and knew I didn’t need to respond. “Well, that explains why he wants _me_ to be a figment of your imagination; someone’s _jealous_.” Ryan whispered before kissing me shortly, tugging on my scarf and pulling me against his body.

“I _might_ have hinted to you going to the game tonight.” I muttered, biting my lip and letting it grow into the _tiniest_ pout.

“Oh, so now I _have_ to go.” Ryan laughed. “You have a point to prove.”

“Exactly. Need to show off a _little_. I do have a title to maintain.”

“Of course I’ll go.” Ryan sealed his promise with a peck on my lips. “Even though I would _far_ prefer staying in all night and starting the weekend off with us-”

“Too bad. You already agreed to this.” I teased, slipping the scarf off over my head and stepping away from Ryan and going to the kitchen. He hung the scarf over my coat hook and followed, taking a seat at the counter. “So, tell me about _your_ day.”

“Eh, the usual.” Ryan shrugged, flipping through the mail on the counter. “Poetry class assigned something new for Monday, picked up tests I have to grade for my TA job… Really nothing crazy.”

“Need help grading the tests?” I offered, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. I twisted off the cap and took a long sip before placing it back on the counter between Ryan and I. “I don’t have much for bio this weekend.”

“I should be fine. But I would like company while I do it, though.” Ryan said, smiling at me and grabbing the last envelope from the pile. He flipped it over and diverted his gaze from me to read the return address. “Oh, would you look at this.” Ryan laughed, flipping it over again to show me.

I squinted to read the thin cursive handwriting across the back of the stark white, square envelope. “Mister and Mister Urie-Ross.” I read. “Is that us?”

“Dallon seems to think so.” Ryan’s finger tapped the corner, directing my vision to the neat return address.

“What’s it say?” I asked, taking another sip of water.

“Let’s find out.” Ryan broke the seal and flipped the top open, sliding a piece of powder blue paper from the envelope. There was a white border and delicate white lettering filling the page. Ryan placed it down on the counter sideways, both of us craning our necks to read it correctly.

“Dear Mister Brendon Urie and Mister Ryan Ross- at least he got that right!” Ryan laughed, tapping his name- and lack thereof. “You are hereby cordially invited- _SHIT_!”

“He’s getting _married_!” I cried, reading ahead. “No way!”

“No fucking shit.” Ryan nodded, looking impressed. “Didn’t think Dallon had it in him.”

“You kidding? He is absolutely crazy about Breezy.” I countered, resting my hands on the counter and leaning forward. “Literally sent to him by God.”

“But he dated that guy for _over five years_ and they never really had any form of decided commitment.” Ryan explained, turning the paper over and looking at it nonchalantly. “It’s been about, what? Two years? Good for him.”

“Well,” I muttered, reaching over and pulling the paper from his fingers. I placed my glasses on the counter and pulled the paper up to my face, covering my growing smirk. “Sometimes you just know. Two years… Maybe just one.” I wasn’t even reading the words on the page; I was only distracting my eyes from Ryan’s undoubtedly smug expression.

“Don’t get too cocky.” Ryan sighed, pushing the paper down and leaning over the counter on his elbows. I narrowed my eyes to see, but used the adjustment to look accusingly at Ryan. “I could ship you back to live with Spencer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I pointed my glasses at him before placing them back on my nose. His smirk rushed back into focus and my following sentence died on my lips. But Ryan leaned forward to pick the words from them anyway.

Ryan pecked me on the lips with finality as he leaned back and smiled at me, something other than joy glinting in his eyes. “You’re too good to send out. Gotta keep you here.”

“Well, thank you.” I bowed my head as I laughed, walking back around the counter to sit in the chair beside Ryan. I picked the invitation up and read it again as Ryan reached down to grab his bag, digging out a pile of papers. “It is really cool that Dallon’s getting married though. I’m really happy for him.”

“About damn time something good happens to that guy.” Ryan noted, placing the stack of papers in front of him. “It feels nice to have your own bad luck broken. He deserves it.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” I agreed.

The bad luck circling, like a storm cloud stirring and charging up to strike down to Earth, had finally faded for us. The ghosts that used to hover and follow us had finally found their rightful place to rest and our house was filled only with the echoing ghosts of happy memories. With all the good luck, all the horrible luck that had followed us seemed worth it. Every time I wanted to give up- even before I had met Brent- every doubt was worth the realization that I had been alright the whole time. To realize I had lived and done it all on my own. All the doubt, and seemingly _haunting_ bad luck, disappeared before I could even remember what was holding me back before. Even Ryan, an orphan at twenty-two, who had seen almost every bad road you could turn down- and found out they all looped around together- was healing and forgetting that bad luck had even followed us out the door. He was quiet a lot less, walked around the house with a song on his lips more often, shared stories without hesitation, and didn’t seem to regret coming back all those years ago. He rang in his twenty-second year with excitement and joy; breaking his own bad luck with resistance to old habits and promise of change. Ryan was right. It was nice.

I placed my hand on his back as I settled in my chair, homework now resting in front of me. I rubbed slow circles as I peered over his shoulder, interested in his work far more than any of mine at the moment. Ryan had the answer key placed next to his stack of papers as he went through and crossed off nearly every question on the test. Ryan shook his head and muttered as he worked through it, shoulders rolling back and flexing as I kept my hand there; his requested company as we both worked. Although we were both very aware that I wasn’t left handed, I didn’t remove my hand and resorted to making sure I read the questions on my bio worksheet _really well._

“I think I have an econ major that doesn’t understand long division…” Ryan muttered, flipping through the test quickly and counting the number of incorrect questions.

“I’m guessing that’s bad.” I laughed.

“Not my test. Not my problem.” Ryan sighed, putting the test aside and starting on a new one. “Let me just finish these so we can leave.”

“Really, Ryan. Let me help.” I reached my other hand over to grab a stack of tests from his pile. “I think I know how to do a little long division.”

“Thank you.” Ryan sighed, lifting his hands and letting me grab another few tests from him. “Now we might actually get out the door by seven.”

I readjusted in my chair and moved closer to Ryan- strictly for a better view of the answer key, of course. I passed through the tests with minimal trouble, only a few kids having final answers that were in completely different ballparks than the one written out by the professor. I left my typical mark beside the incorrect answers, one that Ryan would review later and add comments to, and passed through the tests quickly. Ryan finished before me, pushing the tests away as he stretched his arms. He muttered again and turned to crack his neck. He muttered about the time before leaning back in his chair to see the clock hanging on the wall.

“I’m going to go change out of _business casual_ ,” Ryan pulled on his dress shirt and looked disparagingly at his dress pants. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. I only have a few more to finish.” I smiled at Ryan, leaning back and kissing him as he passed me, going to our bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Just put them in my bag when you’re all finished!” Ryan called. “First pocket.”

“Got it!” I nodded to an invisible audience as I noted my last few corrections. I placed my pen down next to Ryan’s, stacking our piles together and reaching down to grab Ryan’s bag. I set it on the table and flipped down the front flap, pulling open the top-most pocket. “There are other papers in here!” I announced. It was a few crumpled pages resting against the sheer fabric of the interior.

“That’s okay! Just make sure they are on top!” Ryan answered. “Thanks!”

I made a sound of agreement as I slid the other papers out, swapping it with the stack of tests in my hand. I attempted to smooth the other papers on my lap before placing them back in Ryan’s bag. My eyes tried to find other places to focus as I splayed my hands over the papers, trying not to look at the printed word that was hastily scribbled over and edited harshly. Even through my peripheral vision, I could tell that it was Ryan’s handwriting. I was promising myself a look at the page before I could even stop myself.

I wasn’t someone who pried or lurked in Ryan’s business, but there was something just so fascinating about his work process; his drafts were masterpieces, but he would read them in bed, hand in his hair, muttering and crossing out entire stanzas, exclaiming it was worthless, and then somehow would find the shambles to build something even more beautiful and articulate. Even his apparent failures were things I could only aspire to one day be able to _understand_.

I placed the paper on the counter, giving my eyes enough space to try and decipher how the poem was supposed to read now that Ryan had torn it down to its shell and then pieced it back together. There was far too much mayhem to make sense of, Ryan’s own words battling each other for the right to survive another line. All I could make sense of was the title, three scratched out versions lying beneath it, illegible but building a pedestal for the final decision: _The Boy that Belonged to the Sea._

I hadn’t asked Ryan about the ocean since we moved in; every time the weather was nice, he turned it down. Said he didn’t want to go with so many people. But now it was the middle of October, and Ryan still hadn’t seen it, hadn’t felt it, hadn’t stood in it. Maybe he was scared, but he belonged there and he was admitting it on paper- and as far as he was concerned, _only himself_. He knew he belonged, knew he would be reuniting with a part of himself he didn’t even knew yet, but was so _ready_ to have rejoin him. I wanted him to be completely free.

“Hey, Ryan?” I placed the papers back into his bag and folded the flap over. My footsteps echoed down the hallway as I shuffled down to our bedroom.

“Don’t have any pants on right now!” Ryan announced as I reached the door. I announced my entrance with a laugh and pretended to cover my eyes as he stood at the dresser in only his underwear.

“You are missing a lot more than pants.” I noted, closing the door over; habit of living with six Mormons for your entire life, and _then_ your boyfriend’s best friend. “Just so you know.”

“Thanks.” Ryan looked over his shoulder at me and rolled his eyes. He continued to dig through the dresser, muttering to himself.

“So, I was thinking,”

“A dangerous task.” Ryan teased, standing up straight and padding over to the closet and pulling the door over.

“And I thought… Maybe you’d want to skip the football game?” I held my hands behind my back and swayed nervously side to side, hoping Ryan would go along.

“Oh, so you’re coming around to my other idea.” Ryan smirked, stepping away from the closet. “Now I’m perfectly dressed for the occasion.”

“ _No_.” I laughed, letting Ryan place his arms around my shoulders as I placed mine around his waist. “I figured we could just go on a walk tonight. You know, just get some fresh air.”

“But don’t you have some boys to prove wrong?” Ryan asked, tone growing sincere. “I really don’t mind going if you want-”

“No, no really. I want to. Come on. This’ll be much better.” I hinted, drumming my fingers against his back. “Get dressed so we can go. And then when we come back, I’ll make you dinner.”

“Oh, well isn’t this a treat.” Ryan chuckled, pushing my hair back and holding the sides of my face. “You are too good to me.”

“I am.” I agreed, keeping a serious expression for only a moment before poking Ryan’s side and getting him to laugh.

“Unfair!” Ryan laughed, jumping out of my arms. “I’m naked and cold. You can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot how vulnerable you are when you’re cold.” I nodded slowly. “Mr. _Nine Percent Body Fat_.”

“I’m from the _desert_.” He cried, grabbing a shirt from the closet and slipping it over his shoulders. “I’m still getting used to places where the sun doesn’t literally try to make you a puddle on the sidewalk.” Ryan muttered, marching over to the dresser and opening two adjacent drawers. He shuffled around again before grabbing a thick green sweater and a pair of black jeans- ones with very little ankle room.

I chuckled quietly as I sat on the bed, letting Ryan finish getting dressed, agreeing to my idea without knowing what it was. I had that power, I discovered. Ryan walked back and forth around the room as he gathered layers. He tucked his shirt carefully into his jeans as he buttoned them, checking it in the mirror critically, fixing his sides and trying to make his waist look bigger than the size of my wrist. I had noticed this habit and gave him a supportive thumbs-up in his peripheral vision, grinning at his work so far. The green sweater covered all of his work immediately, the only sight of the shirt being the little gray paisley collar poking out at the top.

“Look okay?” He flattened his sweater nervously.

“Do you _ever_ dress terribly?” I replied, standing to meet him and his reflection in the mirror.

“Very true.” He nodded, turning away from his reflection to look at me instead. “Are you all ready to go?”

“Yeah!” I grinned, starting out of the bedroom. “Let me just get my coat.”

I pulled my scarf and jacket off the hook by the door, knotting my scarf with one hand while handing Ryan his jacket with the other. Ginger’s twenty-second birthday gift to him had been a matching scarf and hat set in the most soft and gorgeous lavender yarn. Ryan looped the scarf around his neck and tucked it into his black, knee length overcoat. The look was incredibly dashing and charming- with just a little reminder that it was still _Ryan_ after all. Ryan forewent his hat as I tugged mine over my head again; he had hair to cover his ears. After checking that I had all needed, keys, layers, and other essentials to make it through the evening, we stepped outside into the brisk fall breeze.

“Where are we going?” Ryan asked, pulling out his key to lock the door.

“It’s a surprise.” I responded coyly, continuing to walk but leaving my hand out by my side for him.

“A _surprise_?” Ryan echoed, catching up to me. “Since when do you _surprise_ me?”

“Uh, this morning?”

“Different kind of surprise, Brendon.” Ryan laughed, his head falling back. “ _Very_ different.” I liked to think the same shocked and open-mouthed expression would appear with this surprise. Or at least some cousin thereof.

“Just trust me.” I told him, quickening our pace and heading down the same path I took to school. Ryan saw the school approach in the distance and looked at me strangely.

“Is the surprise taking me where you said we wouldn’t?” He asked slowly. “Because if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I am ready to be with a bunch of high schoolers, Brendon.” Well, either option it didn’t seem like he was going to be ready.

“We aren’t going to the football game. I promised.” I told him, keeping my tone slightly above neutrality. “We are just going to be very close to the school.”

“What’s near the school?” Ryan asked, stretching his neck to try and see beyond where we were standing.

“The beach.” I was thankful that Ocean City was a mere ghost town after the summer months; Ryan stopped dead in the middle of the street. His hand was still clutching mine and nearly toppled me over as I attempted to keep walking.

“What.”

“I figured we’d go to the beach… See the ocean.” Shock was the only thing showing on Ryan’s face. There was nothing that was preparing him for my sudden surprise. “You haven’t gone since we _moved here_!”

“I know that.” Ryan said quickly. “And- And with reason.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” Ryan started confidently but fumbled as his reasons didn’t seem to stand up to the temptation only a few blocks from him. “Uh, I- I just…”

“Let me take you, Ryan.” I coaxed, tugging on his hand. “You _belong_ there. Deserve to see it.”

Ryan’s shoulders relaxed as he sighed, his eyes closing. “The poem.”

“You kinda left it _right there_ for me to see.” I reasoned, easing him to the other side of the sidewalk we still hadn’t reached. “I only saw the title though. That was enough.”

“Brendon, it’s cold. Why don’t we wait until it’s at least comfortable?”

“You mean when _you’re_ comfortable.” I countered, giving him a knowing look. One I had perfected in the past year I knew him. The look had a few powers, one of which was causing all arguments to crumple and fade, before they could even leave his lips. Ryan had the same look, but it wasn’t as useful if he was the one tying to defend himself. “You can’t keep pushing it farther and farther away. _I_ saw the ocean practically the first week at school; my environmental science class took a trip to see it instead of some video. It’s _there_ , Ryan. It’s there for you to see.” I softened my expression and tone. “It’s you.”

“Really?” Ryan didn’t seem to understand we were under five minutes from the sand. I wouldn’t pull him along and lie. The lies had died a long time ago; they had gravestones.

“Yes!” I laughed, bumping into his side. “If _Dallon_ is going to be getting married and committing his entire life to a singular person after dating them for under ten years, the least you can do is trust your boyfriend of a mere thirteen months and fulfill a lifelong _dream_.”

Ryan looked at me with wide eyes, his pupils practically blown already from the euphoria pumping through his veins and speeding up his pace. Ten months after he buried his father and every time he looked at me, I swore I saw more hope flash in his eyes. He was a light unto himself- a sun in a star speckled sky. Our lights were uncontrollable, illuminating the slowly dimming sky.

“Wait.” Ryan stopped, pulling me back again. I bit my lip as he stared off ahead of us; as much as I had come to learn Ryan, I still couldn’t predict everything he did. His denial was still just as strong. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I looked around to try and see the issue first.

“ _That_.” Ryan didn’t make any motion. “It’s the waves.” It’s like he was making a discovery. The Earth was growing beneath his feet instead of crumbling. He took advantage of it and broke out into a run, nearly tripping me as I had to quickly change my pace to keep up.

“Ryan!” I laughed, grabbing his sleeve and trying to pull him back. “Ryan, wait!” 

“I can hear it!” Ryan swerved us off the sidewalk to switch sides and take the ramp up onto the boardwalk; stairs could have killed us both. “I didn’t know it was so loud.”

As we reached the flat landing of the boardwalk, Ryan stopped and advanced slowly, his hands resting on the metal railing that blocked people from launching themselves off the raised walkway onto the dunes. His fingers twisted around the pole slowly, eyes fixed on the crashing waves just a few hundred feet in front of him. His eyes darted over the water quickly, finding different cresting waves and watching them reach as high as they could, before tumbling back down into ranks. It was hypnotic, no matter how many times you had seen it.

“We can get closer.” I said softly, pulling Ryan’s hand off the railing. “Come on.”

“Can we?” He gasped, following me hesitantly. He looked around the boardwalk, noting our solitude. The world could come to a complete stop and we’d never notice; the ocean kept roaring back to the shore, reaching toward us. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, c’mon.” I whispered, pulling him to the three steps that brought the boardwalk to the beach. We both took them quickly.

Our shoes were not meant for the beach and caused us to slide and sink in the cold sand as we took our first steps out to the ocean. Ryan’s feet were hesitant, trailing behind mine as we trekked over the loose dunes to the more packed sand that could support our weight without shifting and caving. The two of us stumbled on the unstable surface, falling into each other and kicking sand up against our legs. The cold air stung our throats as we laughed, the air being pulled out of us from the shock and awe. The ocean was endless, stretching out in all directions, making the shore look like it was the end and that the ocean was the true beginning of the Earth.

Even from where we stood, the water looked freezing. The foam frothing against the shore as the waves crashed and stretched toward our feet was a chilling gray. The wind whipped against us and nearly cut our faces; it was a harsh beauty we couldn’t walk away from. We walked to the edge, our toes brushing with the waves as they died out and sighed against the coast.

Ryan let the water splash up against his shoes, his feet taking him out farther. He released my hand, letting me stay on the sand as he walked out to the bobbing waves, touching his ankles. It was a temptress; he couldn’t stay away.

“It’s so beautiful… It’s just like I read…” He breathed, his words fitting in with the moment of rest the ocean gave the world as it relaxed against the ocean floor and pushed the Earth back. “It’s… It’s alive.” Ryan turned to look at me, no words needed to expression my confusion. “Listen. It’s _breathing_. It’s beautiful.” He closed his eyes and turned away from me, arms stretching out to lay along the horizon in the distance, attempting to reach just as far.

I followed Ryan’s instinct and closed my eyes, closing out the world that was already slowed and disappearing behind us. The ocean’s waves crashed and retreated in a repetitive pattern, the entire Earth inhaling to suck the water back to its center before sighing and letting the water reach back out, sliding over the shore and grazing the life that encountered it. It was alive. Continuing to live, patiently waiting for its next visitor, next lost soul to find its way back home. We had been wandering for months, living just beyond the origin of the world, her call a whispered roar. We couldn’t stay away if we tried. We would always live just under her smooth grip, dragging us out closer to the heart- no shore, no escape, no regrets.

I opened my eyes and stepped into the water to reach Ryan. “You made it.” I said quietly, not trying to speak over the voice calling to us.

“You know,” Ryan sighed, his arms falling to his sides. “The ocean never stops moving.”

“A genius observation.” I chuckled, wrapping my arm around his waist, tucking my stiffening hand in his pocket as best I could.

“No. It never stops changing. It rises and recedes and crashes and shrinks-” He sighed when I continued to stare at him and his elementary notes. “It goes up onto the shore, only a little trace of water flattening the sand, and then it rushes back to the ocean. It is always trying to go out farther and farther and running farther away, but it always goes back. Goes back home.” Maybe there was something else innately human about the ocean. Something both Ryan and I knew far too well. “It never stays in one place.” He sounded anguished, like there was something wrong.

“Not all beautiful things have to, Ryan.” I told him quietly, placing my hand on his chest. “Beautiful things can change.”

“Yeah?” He stared at me, cheeks pink and tip of his nose already looking red and raw from the blustering wind. The exposure was causing his eyes to water, but I was sure it wasn’t just the biting sea air.

“Of course.” I nodded, tugging on his coat and pulling him into me. I kissed him slowly, our pace making up for the unstoppable rush of the ocean, unheeding to us. The wind whipped past us, Ryan’s hair covering both of our faces and my scarf slapping against our chests. My lips hovered over Ryan’s as I brushed back his hair, fingers tracing the scar running along his temple before sliding down to tuck hair behind his ear. “Trust me.”


End file.
